


The Enigma

by midnightshon



Category: Red Velvet (K-pop Band)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-12
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2019-08-03 22:27:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 30,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16334414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midnightshon/pseuds/midnightshon
Summary: Wendy did not know the woman. Well, she did. Barely. She was the new rising star who garnered attention by releasing a music video with scenes most Koreans would consider controversial, a rapper with beauty too high for any woman to compete, the quiet and strange woman too mysterious for anyone’s liking.While Wendy was... well, Wendy was ‘the boring songs’ singer, or so she was labelled.





	1. Chapter 1

As she dried her hands with the drier, Wendy could hear a round of applause echo outside, congratulating whoever it was who won the Best Album nomination. Or was it the Best Single? Well, it was probably the nomination after that one, Wendy could not be so sure. She had been in the toilet for a while now, she could not care less how many nominations she had missed since then.

 

It was not like her song would grab any of those anyway.

 

And no, it was not her complaining or whatever. She knew her song was not up to the judges’ standard. She knew it because people around her had been telling her that since she first began producing it. It’s just that she found this ceremony stupid. Throughout. Completely. Why should she be attending a ceremony she won nothing at again?

 

“To get your name known,” her manager’s voice rang in her head for the hundredth time. “Expand your network.”

 

“Yeah, yeah...” she shot back at the voice, “gotta build a reputation to be recognized. It’s still stupid though.”

 

“What, you talking to yourself in front of a mirror? No shit, Einstein. That gotta be the most genius thing one could ever invent of doing. Inspiring even.”

 

Wendy turned on her heels, following the source of that sarcastic voice, and found a woman throwing a lopsided smile at her from the doorway.

 

For a second there, Wendy had her moment of doubt for she was not sure the person was actually a she. Yes, she was wearing something that could somehow passed as a dress—barely, though—but she had her dark hair cut short, barely touching her shoulders. Complete that with that thick long jacket wrapped around her body, Wendy could have almost guessed it was a man opening the wrong toilet door. Like, who knew, it could have been one of those pretty boys from the rookie boy groups or something—who, by the way, had gotten prettier the younger they were instead of more handsome.

 

What gave the person away was a snicker that followed her snarky comment. It was high-pitched and ended in a way that made the woman sound like she was breathless, as if she found herself overly amusing, and Wendy had to take a glance at her to make sure that she was not actually choking or anything.

 

She stepped aside as the stranger strode in her direction, hands reaching for the faucet.

 

“I came in here wanting to escape those imbeciles outside,” the stranger spoke again, eyes peering at Wendy. “Turns out there’s someone who’s even more pathetic than I am.”

 

“I am not pathetic,” Wendy automatically argued because... well, because she was not pathetic.

 

“They who stay are the one winning,” the woman said slowly, as if explaining why the sky’s blue to a five-year-old. “You cannot celebrate your victory hiding in this stupid toilet, can you now? You did not win anything. That’s pathetic.”

 

Wendy turned to face the woman, somehow provoked by her too casual demeanor. Not to mention, impolite. “Well, you’re here now. That does not make you any better than I am.”

 

“Says who?” The stranger lifted her brows at Wendy. They had been shaved, leaving a thin, neat line of hair, which gave a sign of her feminine look. “Look it up,” she said, “Bae Joohyun, Popularity Award winner.”

 

“Bae Joohyun.” It was Wendy’s turn to lift an eyebrow. She knew the name.

 

Bae Joohyun, or known as Irene with her stage name, was the newcomer soloist who made her comeback with a single along with a homosexual-themed music video released earlier that year. Wendy did not know much, just briefly hearing about the song from her manager who tried to give her some suggestion as to what kind of song that would sell. Wendy’s would not, but that lesbian single would, or so had her manager ever so bluntly told her.

 

From what she heard, Irene was not ordinary, to say it in the modest way. Everything was basically not up to her standard. Nothing could make her smile in front of the camera, making her one rude rookie for always showing a cold expression on screen. She had a high standard, and no one could put up with it. She was too mysterious for anyone to handle so they spared her no attention. That, until she released her second single with a controversial music video. She was never left alone ever since. Even her quietness did not stop the speculation from spreading: Irene Bae was probably a homosexual.

 

“See? You know the name.” Irene interrupted Wendy’s thought. “Even a singer of boring songs like you know me. In case you’re wondering, yes, the sex scenes were real but no, that was not my butt you see going around on screen. I used a double because obviously mine would be too hot for the audience to handle.”

 

“What—”

 

“And no, I’m not gay. I swing both ways.”

 

“I...” Wendy stopped herself to clear her throat. What’s this sudden tightening feeling in her throat? She tried again. “You said my songs were boring.”

 

“Good Lord...” That weird snicker of the woman’s was heard again. Irene turned around and pulled herself up to sit on the counter, her laughter still echoing in the spacious rest room. “I just clarified two most speculating rumors of the year, and you’re asking me why I label your songs boring? Unbelievable.”

 

Wendy bit back a response she was ready to throw, unsure as to why she should be arguing with this novice singer. So she turned around herself and leaned against the counter with her iPod turned on. There should be thirty minutes left until the crowd began to shrink in size outside. Might as well kill some time until then.

 

However, just as the first song started blaring in her eardrums, Wendy caught the woman next to her pulling a box of cigarettes out of her jacket. Without a second to beat, one was lit and put in between her lips.

 

“You’re not supposed to smoke in the building.”

 

Irene turned to her, deliberately puffing thick smoke in Wendy’s face before responding, “Did you just make that up because you’re afraid you’ll get a lung cancer? Because, seriously, that would destroy my whole purpose of coming all the way here.”

 

“Well, it’s not my place to tell you what to do and what not to. Suit yourself.” With that, Wendy was back to her playlist. She listened to four songs in total and decided she would go out of the toilet after the fifth one and leave the building. Go back home. Get some sleep. And make note to self to never ever listen to every advice her manager told her.

 

By the time she finished listening to the last song, she found six wasted cigarettes on the counter. Wendy frowned, the one still in the singer’s mouth included, this woman finished seven sticks in the last fifteen minutes. Wendy knew it was none of her business and the woman’s expression did not reflect it, but her manner spoke louder than her expressionless face. This woman was stressed out. Because of what, Wendy was not sure she wanted to know.

 

Either that or this woman was simply one hell of a smoker.

 

Just then a series of Koreans left Irene’s mouth in a mumble, deepening the frown on Wendy’s forehead. Wendy waited, looking at the woman with all patience in the world, while Irene took her time smoking the last few millimeters of her cigarette. When she was done, she killed the burning thing and exhaled before Wendy’s face again. And finally, the words were spelled out loud:

 

“I think we should fuck.”

 

The straightforwardness of that sentence made Wendy choke on her breath. Or perhaps it was the way Irene was looking at her. Or it was the way one corner of her lips lifted up ever seductively. Whatever it was, it could not be the smoke because Irene’s face was just centimeters away from her and she was inhaling the smoke as well yet she seemed perfectly fine in comparison.

 

“The mute line from my music video,” the singer said, straightening her back. “One of the many things people asked me about that damned video. Arose curiosity, they said, and probably the reason I win the award. What do you think?”

 

“What?” Wendy swore she felt like she was the dumbest person on earth. Sure she had not been in Korea for many years, but she was a native for God’s sake, and she still had to ask the woman to repeat herself even when talking in the same language.

 

“What do you think of the line?”

 

“Uh, well, I think it’s very short and so on point.”

 

“And...?” Irene batted her an eyelash. “What do you think of the proposal? Should we do it here?”

 

Wendy could have sworn she felt herself twitch upon hearing that accent. A good yet uncomfortable kind of twitch. She shook her head, trying to cleanse it of any dirty thoughts that began invading, and said, “I don’t have sex with strangers.”

 

“Oh, sure you do.” Irene nodded at her, not looking ashamed even at the slightest. “News flash, it is called ‘fuck’ because you do it with strangers.”

 

“You... you don’t even know my name,” Wendy said, feeling even dumber.

 

Irene did not respond. Instead, she jumped off the counter and walked up to Wendy. She was standing very close that Wendy could feel Irene’s tummy pressed against her knees. They were practically breathing in each other’s scent, but before Wendy could make out the scent of perfume Irene wore in the midst of heavy smell of her cigar, Wendy felt her lips being crashed by a pair of plump ones.

 

The attack happened in a blink of an eye and ended just as abruptly. Instead of crashing and biting as Wendy thought she would, Irene stilled, her hands rising to both sides of Wendy’s head, stopping her in motion as she started to breathe out steadily. And Wendy did just that, staying still while the woman composed herself. Wendy did not know how but it felt as though Irene was seeking some sort of reassurance, or comfort perhaps. The woman who minutes ago was bragging her achievement and suggesting a sex to Wendy was now this fragile woman clinging onto her, as though she was drowning and Wendy was the life jacket that could keep her afloat.

 

Which was crazy because it just did not feel right to use ‘fragile’ to describe the overconfident woman. The equation did not match up and it was soon confirmed by Irene herself as she cracked a smile against Wendy’s lips.

 

“Tell me you’ve done this before,” demanded the woman, pulling away from Wendy with mischievousness flashing in her eyes, long gone the imaginary fragile woman Wendy thought exist within her. “Otherwise I’d feel really bad if I were to take away your virginity.”

 

\--------


	2. Chapter 2

Bae Joohyun had been drunk—that was the one conclusion Wendy could gather from the entire ordeal. Not to mention, the only explainable one. Apparently, the woman had taken a glass or two of Brandy that was served in the hall before walking into the restroom, which pretty much explained her way too bold personality once meeting Wendy inside. She had been that drunk Wendy was sure enough she would not remember a thing once she woke up.

 

Yet this was not Wendy complaining. No, she wasn’t, because two, Bae Joohyun did not top. Wendy did not know about other people the woman had slept with, but with Wendy, she was more than glad to give up the upper hand. Which was a surprise actually, Wendy had to admit, considering the way Bae Joohyun had approached her. Though it was actually a good thing, because being the one on top, Wendy did not feel used. It was her enjoying the other woman, not the other way around, and if the woman really remembered nothing, then that was her loss.

 

However, Bae Joohyun was right about one thing—and that made three of it: her butt was too hot for anyone to handle. It was almost unbearable for Wendy to _watch_ when the woman had begun to strip off her dress last night. Tortured was an understatement. And now, as she lay there asleep, neatly tucked under the quilt with her bare thigh poking out, it was all Wendy could do to not touch those butts and just let her internal pervert unleashed.

 

Instead, she slid next to the stranger and touched her shoulder, shaking her awake. Her attempt was met with a soft grumble along with two sleepy eyes glaring at her. Maybe it was her messy bed hair that covered half of her face or it was probably her pouting dry lips—Wendy could not be so sure, but whatever it was, it made the drunken woman disappear, leaving an innocent looking child in her place. Not even a trace of that seductress left behind, and it gave a slight tug to Wendy’s heart.

 

Strange how sleep could turn even the most devilish woman into an innocence just like the one lying next to her.

 

“I thought you’d have left,” remarked Bae Joohyun in a hoarse voice.

 

 _So she remembered_ , Wendy mentally noted as she reached for a shirt on the floor. “Technically, I cannot just leave. This is my place. If anything, you should be the one leaving. Here,” she offered the shirt to the other woman, “get dressed. We’re having breakfast.”

 

Bae Joohyun—Irene, Wendy had to remind herself—stared at the white shirt before looking back at Wendy. “It’s your shirt,” she said.

 

Wendy nodded.

 

“Why should I be wearing your shirt?”

 

“Because your cloth is not a shirt. It’s a dress, and I don’t think you’d be comfortable wearing that for breakfast. C’mon, take it. No one’s allowed to walk around naked in my kitchen.”

 

A lopsided smile was thrown at Wendy in response. “You made me breakfast, now giving me your shirt, are you trying to get into my pants or what?”

 

“Why would I go through such a hassle just to get into your pants?” Wendy threw the shirt away then brought a hand to grab the hem of her blanket. “You’re, in fact, not wearing any at the moment. All I gotta do is to lift this quilt off.”

 

At that, the grin on Irene’s lips widened. In a split second, she already rolled to the side and succeeded at getting on Wendy’s lap.  She was now smiling menacingly at Wendy, as if Wendy was her prey and it was snack time. Leaning forward, she whispered in Wendy’s ear, “Then why did you put your clothes on?” finishing with a lick on Wendy’s earlobe.

 

Wendy gulped.

 

This was not what she originally planned. All she wanted was to share her breakfast because she accidentally made too much of it, but now look what a mess she had got from having such an innocent and noble intention: a naked woman straddling her, with a dangerous tongue ready to ravish her ear, and a bare core pressed hard against her stomach. Wendy had to remind herself to bite her bottom lip in order to stop a groan from escaping.

 

Though she hated to correct herself, Wendy had to: Bae Joohyun had not been that bold because of alcohol. She was in fact very bold sober, and very, very tempting too.

 

“I don’t mind cold food,” Irene continued to whisper, “do you?” That was rhetoric because then, without waiting for Wendy’s answer, Irene turned her head to Wendy’s face and caught Wendy’s lip between hers.

 

The kiss started out slow, with Irene lazily dragging her lips against Wendy’s and Wendy trying as hard to keep her hormone intact and not fully giving in. She had a schedule in one hour for God’s sake. She should be getting ready by now and not getting herself tangled in the mess that was the seductress. But then the heat rose when Wendy felt Irene squish her chest onto her clothed one and tug her hair while at it. The combination of pain and that delicious sensation triggered a low grunt from Wendy, and soon she felt Irene grinning against her lips.

 

Smug. This novice singer thought she had won the game, but Wendy was not one to give in so easily. “I have someplace to go.” She managed to push Irene back, hands holding the latter’s shoulders firmly.

 

That pout on Irene’s lips was unmistakable, and for a brief moment Wendy wondered how old this woman actually was. “Do you now?”

 

“And breakfast to eat,” added Wendy while pushing Irene down to the mattress. She made sure to have her lips grazed the other girl’s cheek as she spoke, “You’re free to join me if you...”

 

However, if Wendy thought she could win this game by simply denying the seductress, she was wrong. Completely. Because then Irene wrapped her arms around Wendy’s neck, stopping her midsentence, before completely silencing her with an open-mouth kiss. That strong taste of alcohol was long gone, yet somehow it was still there, making Wendy drunk in an instant. Or perhaps it was simply Irene alone who made her dizzy like this. Wendy could not care less really, and before long whatever left of her self-control was thrown out the window as Irene’s tongue began dancing her sinful dance in Wendy’s mouth.

 

Irene Bae made her drunk, pushed her over the edge of sanity, and Wendy could not bring herself to care even at the slightest. She wanted this. She wanted this woman. And not even a bloody morning schedule would stop her from getting what she wanted.

 

“Have me for breakfast instead,” was the last thing Wendy remember hearing before letting the beast inside her unleash. 

 

\--

 

“Did something good happen?”

 

Wendy lifted her head from lines of notes before her and met her manager’s scrutinizing eyes. The other woman just arrived at Wendy’s house like thirty seconds ago, with her bag still slung over her shoulders, and Wendy had yet to open a conversation with her; Wendy could not help but raise a questioning eyebrow.

 

“Your face,” her manager continued, bringing her hand to draw random circles in front of Wendy’s face, “it’s different. It looks like you may puke rainbow any seconds now.”

 

“W—what?” Wendy’s laughter erupted in the spacious living room. Jessica Jung used to be a designer before getting involved in music industry again, and Wendy knew how bizarre this woman could be with her designs at times, but she did not know she could also be this weird in term of word choices.

 

“And haven’t you been listening to yourself? You’ve only played all the happy notes since I arrived. _Those happy tones_ , and it’s been three days since I first heard them, I’m beginning to think you’ll soon quit being a ballad singer. Not that I’m complaining though, it’s a blessing if you’d like to alter from the sad genre. It’s just...” Her manager stopped for a second to catch her breath, then with hands crossed over her chest, she demanded, “Spill.”

 

“Have I?” Wendy spared herself a second to blink before randomly taking a piece of paper from on top of her piano. Her eyes scanned the notes written on it and heard those high notes resonate back in a fast tempo in her head. And she cringed. How could she not notice she had been producing all these joyful tones?

 

“You’re on autopilot,” her manager remarked, “which pretty much proves that something good _did_ happen.”

 

“Just trying out something new, I guess.”

 

Jessica snorted, eyes scanning Wendy’s self-composed melody. “Enough to produce one mini album, I must say. You should try it out.”

 

“An exaggeration.” Wendy waved the older woman off and closed her piano. Then she went to sit on a sofa and turned on the TV. “I thought you came to inform me about that OST thingy?”

 

She could still feel her manager’s eyes on her, but the older woman eventually let go. Striding in Wendy’s direction, the manager handed her an envelope. “The lyric and demo,” she said, before settling down beside Wendy. “Remember when Lee Donghae said he wasn’t sure how the lyric would turn out? Well, he’s right. Instead of writing the full song by himself, he decided to collaborate with a famous rapper who helped him write the rap parts in this song. So, now you’ll be recording a ballad song featuring a rapper. Congrats,” Jessica finished with a fake smile.

 

“Perfect,” Wendy responded, returning the dry smile. “Cancel it.”

 

“Killjoy.” Jessica shoved her shoulder hard. “We’re not cancelling it.”

 

“I hate rap.”

 

“Well, it’s not like they ask _you_ to rap. You can just record yours, get it over with, and never have to listen to the rap for the rest of your life.”

 

“But still I have to listen to the demo.”

 

At that, Jessica caught Wendy’s cheek in between her thumb and forefinger, giving it a hard pinch until Wendy started screaming in pain. “What’s that for?!” She jumped from her seat until she reached the edge of sofa, and stayed there, keeping her distance from her manager’s dangerous hand.

 

“I like it better when you absently played those happy notes,” Jessica replied, offering a menacing eye-smile to the singer. “Looks adorable, so contrast compared to this usually grumbling side of yours.”

 

Once again Wendy ignored her manager, giving her a half-hearted snort as she opened the envelope. There was a flash drive inside and a piece of paper containing the song lyric. She put the flash disk back in then just stared at the paper for one full minute.

 

The lyricist had told her what kind of song he would write, what emotion he would want to convey with it, and how he could not think of any other singers to sing it but Wendy. Knowing Lee Donghae had produced many great ballads—some even won the Best OST award, Wendy had been excited about this project. Yet now as her eyes skimmed through lines of lyric and found ‘rap’ written at some parts, Wendy was not so sure anymore.

 

“Does he have names?” asked Wendy.

 

“Yep, two strong candidates,” her manager replied, suddenly busy taking out stuff from her bag. “He asked for my opinion earlier, but I thought you should be the one giving opinion instead. You don’t know them that well though, so I brought you some of their works as reference. Rapper Hyukjae and Irene Bae, which one?”

 

By then, Jessica was already busy putting CDs on the table, on some written ‘Hyukjae’ in Hangul and the rest had ‘Irene’. Her manager even decided to go through the trouble to explain each album to Wendy. Which was a waste because none of those explanation managed to get inside Wendy’s ear. Her hearing system had suddenly stopped working the second ‘Irene Bae’ was mentioned, and all that she could hear was devilish cackle and low moans that Irene had made being played in a loop in her head.

 

 _Fuck_.

 

“... I personally vote for Hyukjae, since he was the one who wrote the rap portion, he must know how to sing it better.”

 

“Who?”

 

“Rapper Hyukjae,” Jessica repeated, “you met him in a party a few weeks ago.”

 

“No—no,” Wendy shook her head, shooing all her dirty thoughts away. “The other candidate, who?”

 

“Irene Bae, the rookie singer I mentioned some time ago?” Jessica picked up one CD for Wendy to see, and that lopsided smile she had remembered so well greeted her. There was no mistaking it. It was indeed _that_ Irene Bae. The one who had messed with Wendy in their first meeting. The one who Wendy had brought home right after and screwed _twice_. The very same person who had jogged around Wendy’s mind nonstop since then.

 

Hell yeah, how could Wendy not remember?

 

“Yeah, I recall,” she managed to respond in a normal tone while rising to her feet and walking up to her piano again.

 

“The music award you attend the other day?”

 

“Yeah?” Wendy immediately responded, too quick to be considered casual. _Shit_ , it was high-pitched, too. Clearing her throat, Wendy tried again, “Yeah, what about it?”

 

Wendy eyed her manager for any change of expression, any sign that would show the older woman knew what Wendy was hiding. Or worse, what Wendy _did_ that night. But she had not seen Jessica when she left the building that night. She had told her manager to leave hours before the event ended. There was no way Jessica would have seen Wendy leaving with Irene... would she?

 

“I don’t know if this should be put into consideration,” her manager began, looking at the CD in her hand intently, “but she won the popularity award.” Wendy breathed out slowly, so Jessica had not seen her.

 

“With this single,” Jessica carried on, now showing the cover to Wendy once more. “What do you think?”

 

What did Wendy think? Like, how did she like Irene looked in her cover CD? Or, how sexy did Wendy think Irene looked in that oversized t-shirt with messy bed hair and seemingly highly likely no pants on? Wendy wanted to beg Jessica to be more specific.

 

“I think—” Wendy reminded herself to breathe, which was hard with Irene’s lingering scent burning her throat. “Well, Donghae said this song would represent the heroin’s feelings toward the male character, right? I think it’d be better if it’s also sung by women, you know, to bring forth that woman-ish feelings?”

 

“You got a point,” Jessica agreed. “I’ll let Donghae know.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Okay...”

 

Wendy turned to her manager with a frown. “What is it?”

 

“Nothing.” Yet Jessica was still looking at her warily. “But this means you agree to do this song? You know, just checking, since you’re not complaining anymore.”

 

“Oh, yeah. Right. I mean, why not? Just as you said, I’ll go record my part and get it done with once and for all. No big deal.”

 

 _Liar_ , her brain instantly sneered, and Wendy could not argue to that. She was indeed a liar, for everything that she wanted at the moment was to see Irene Bae again. And if that meant sitting for hours in the recording studio listening to the woman’s rap her part, hell, Wendy would not move even an inch from her spot.

 

Though it did not seem that way to her manager, for the older woman suddenly walked in her way and without warning gave her a bone-crushing hug. “That’s so professional of you!” Jessica exclaimed in a sing-song tone. “I’m a proud manager.”

 

“Yeah, yeah...” Wendy could only laugh as Jessica continued to hug her. The very reason Wendy agreed to have Jessica as her manager was because the older woman matched well with her snarky side. Jessica Jung was a walking ball of sarcasm, so it was completely rare for Wendy to see the manager show any kind of affection to anyone. And every time Jessica did show her some affection, Wendy welcomed it well. Something along the ‘enjoy it while it lasts’ line.

 

Which did end seconds later, with Jessica pulling away and playfully slapping Wendy’s cheek. Very affectionate indeed.

 

“Okay, I’ll get going now. I’ll talk to Donghae and arrange the recording schedules.”

 

“Sure.”

 

“Till then, play some more of those happy tones, Wendy.” Jessica grinned widely as she patted the spot on Wendy’s cheek that she had slapped. “Get out of your four-wall of grumpiness.”

 

Jessica left minutes later, though not after Wendy convinced her that she did _not_ need those CDs—seriously, what good would those alluring pictures of Irene do laying around her house? And soon Wendy was left alone to her thoughts, which had not been doing much really, but to think of a certain novice singer.

 

It had been only three days since their first encounter, and everything that was Irene was still very much lingering in Wendy’s mind.

 

Frankly speaking, Wendy had not expected to see the woman again. What happened between them was a mere one night stand, and when you had one, you’re supposed to not meet one another again. Yet Wendy could not stop thinking about the woman. Her bold personality, her way too alluring self, and above all, her mysterious side. They had had mind-blowing sex twice, yet there’s so little that Wendy knew about the motive Irene had that night.

 

Why _her_?

 

Why Wendy of all people?

 

It was probably a pure random choice, but Wendy wished that it was not the case. Rather desperately, to be honest.

 

And Wendy had to admit Irene had awakened her curiosity from a deep slumber.

 

She wanted to see the woman, just so she could understand her intention better. And in a few days from now, she would. The thought alone brought a smile to her face.

 

Before Wendy could really register what she’s doing, she had found herself sitting before her piano again. One hand ready on the keys, and Wendy pressed one. That high tone, the very same high tone as Irene’s weird snicker in the toilet.

 

The happy tone.

 

\--------


	3. Chapter 3

The sky of Seoul looked very awful today. It was dark with many layers of clouds threatening to pour down the rain. As she rolled up her side window, Jessica sent her last glare to the sky for making the day ten times worse.

 

They were supposed to be on their way to the recording studio today, she and Wendy was. Jessica was halfway driving them to the studio when Wendy suddenly started humming. It would have been okay if it was any other song—Wendy hummed all the time—but she was humming _that_ song, her favorite ballad of all time, the one she sang at her parents’ funeral. It had been a while since Jessica last heard the singer sang it, and she knew whenever Wendy did, it meant her mood had hit the bottom and nothing could fix it. So it was very much predicted that then Wendy told her to pull over at the nearest mini market so she could buy a cup of ramen, and then asked Jessica to turn around. “Tell Donghae we won’t come today,” said Wendy before giving her full attention to her cup of ramen.

 

However, today was not the death anniversary of Wendy’s parents—Jessica would know and would definitely empty out Wendy’s schedule for the day—so Jessica had nothing to blame for this sudden change of mood of her singer but the gloomy sky outside. It had been as dark during the funeral a few years back, and it was probably because of that Wendy was suddenly reminded of her parents.

 

There were nothing much Jessica could remember about them, really. Wendy’s parents, she had only met them when she began her job as Wendy’s manager, and they passed away after only eight months Wendy began her solo career.

 

A car accident, Jessica told Wendy—an attempted murder by the driver, Jessica was told by police, yet there was no proof that could strengthen the assumption because the driver was Wendy’s father himself and Jessica did not let it reach Wendy’s ear, so the girl could mourn in peace. Even so, it did seem like Wendy knew about it, not as detailed, but she must have read the articles. They were crazy, from an assumption turned into a one-sided conclusion, even though Jessica and the agency had tried to block them, one or two eventually came out.

 

If anything, her parents’ death had turned public’s attention to Wendy. Jessica remembered seeing more people carrying cameras at the funeral than one bringing flowers and actually mourning. Then Wendy sang that song, Don’t Forget by singer Baek Ji Young, as her farewell to her parents, and since then ‘ballad’ seemed to have been tattooed on her forehead. “It’s not Wendy if she doesn’t sing ballad,” they said.

 

“Do you remember my senior, Kwon Boa?”

 

Jessica turned her head to the passenger seat. Wendy had finished her ramen and was in the middle of a staring contest against the road ahead. “Yes,” Jessica nodded, “what about her?”

 

“Today is her second year wedding anniversary,” said Wendy matter-of-factly.

 

“Oh yes, I remember. You sang at her wedding, right?”

 

“I did.” Wendy paused, as though pondering on what to say, then spoke again. “I don’t think I ever told you this but... I met somebody there. At the wedding.”

 

Jessica’s eyebrows rose automatically. She had never heard Wendy talk about anyone before. And now Wendy was telling her she had met someone before and was actually about to share it with Jessica? Now, that’s a first.

 

So Jessica focused her full attention as Wendy began her story. “I think she’s the one who’s responsible for the hall decoration. I mean, I saw her running around telling people what decoration to put at what place, I’m not sure. And of course I didn’t see her throughout the ceremony, I was busy playing the piano and singing and she was, what, making sure the place remain perfect throughout?”

 

Then Wendy stopped, and Jessica groaned, rather exaggeratedly to catch the singer’s attention. “This love-at-first-sight story cannot be _this_ boring, can it?”

 

“I did not say I was attracted to this girl,” came an immediate response from Wendy.

 

Jessica raised a challenging eyebrow, “Really now?”

 

“Would you stop interrupting me and be a good listener for once?”

 

Jessica noticed a light shade of pink covering Wendy’s cheeks, but seeing how Wendy tried to look as casual, to protect her pride perhaps, Jessica decided to refrain herself from teasing the younger even further. She raised one hand in defeat and signaled Wendy to continue.

 

“Well, anyway, you know how I hate being in the crowd, right?” Jessica quickly nodded. “So, when the wedding was over, I waited until everyone left the hall before leaving myself. I waited while playing the piano quietly, and then after two or three songs, she came.”

 

“Telling you to leave because she needed to clean the place?” Jessica guessed, snickering to herself at the thought, but instantly silenced herself as she realized she just interrupted the younger again.

 

“Probably, subtly,” Wendy waved off Jessica’s remark. “Though strangely, the first thing she told me was not that the wedding’s over and that I had to leave. She asked me to play her a song. A funeral-ish song,” added Wendy in a quiet tone.

 

“At a wedding?” Jessica’s brow rose once more. Who would have guessed there was another person out there who had the same grim sense of humor as Wendy’s?

 

Wendy chuckled at the memory, “She argued that the wedding was over. So I played her one.”

 

“Don’t Forget?” asked Jessica carefully.

 

“That’s the only song that I could think of, yes.”

 

“Mm-hm.” Silence fell for a moment as Jessica made a left-turn in the corner, then she wondered aloud, “This girl, what did she look like?”

 

“I’m bad at remembering faces, you know that. I really cannot recall. I don’t even know her name.”

 

“You don’t?”

 

“No. You see, it just happens to be Boa-unnie’s wedding anniversary today, so I sort of remember.” Wendy was actually laughing at her own statement, and it made Jessica draw out a sigh of relief.

 

“Gosh, so that’s why you’ve been this gloomy all day? Because you remembered this old crush of yours whose name you could not remember?” Wendy’s laughter doubled upon hearing Jessica’s remark. “You got me worried for a second there, Wendy Shon!”

 

The laughter still lingered in her voice when the singer responded, almost apologetically, “I know. I’m quite troublesome today, aren’t I?”

 

“ _Very_. So now, has your mood improved enough for you to go to the studio?” Jessica did not expect much, but if they did not have to reschedule, that would be great.

 

“Maybe.”

 

“We’re halfway to your house, Wendy, do _not_ maybe me.”

 

Wendy gave her a not-so-girly punch on the shoulder before answering, “Let’s do this, Boss.”

 

\----

 

They arrived at the studio thirty minutes later.

 

Wendy had expected to see Irene there, probably engaged in a discussion with Donghae about the song, or even better, already in the middle of recording her part of the song. However, what greeted her as Jessica opened the door to the recording room stopped her on track. There were Lee Hyukjae there, Wendy remembered his face from the CD cover, and a slanted-eye woman, sitting across from each other.

 

There was no Irene.

 

“Unnie.” Wendy quickly grabbed Jessica, who was busy greeting the two and apologizing for running late, by the arm and pulled her back so she could whisper in her ear. “I thought you were relaying my vote to Lee Donghae.”

 

Jessica threw her a puzzled look before nodding in understanding a second later. “Lee Hyukjae is not here for the recording,” said the manager.

 

“What—”

 

Just then another door inside the room opened, revealing a smiling Lee Donghae and a raven-haired girl following closely behind him. “Wendy, there you are!” Donghae greeted her, smiling even wider. He stepped forward and shook Wendy’s hand and Jessica’s. “I heard from Jessica that you girls were running late, so I took the liberty to explain the song to Irene first. Hope you don’t mind with that? I can briefly explain it to you later.”

 

“Who?”

 

“Irene—ah, that’s right.” Donghae snapped his fingers as he suddenly realized something. “This is Irene, the rapper who will record the song with you. Irene, this is Wendy Shon. I assume this is your first time seeing each other?” While he was doing the introduction, Donghae moved a little to the side, and with his hand gesturing at the raven-haired girl behind him to step forward.

 

Wendy was dumbfounded. Well, actually, somewhere beyond that, because the girl who was now extending her hand for Wendy to shake was none other than Irene Bae. The woman who had disturbed Wendy’s mind nonstop this past week, it’s just that the one standing before her now was the black-haired version. Irene Bae had dyed her hair jet-black, and Wendy had almost blurted it out, out of pure dumbness, if it was not for Irene to beat her to it.

 

“Nice to meet you, Wendy,” said Irene ever so politely. And Wendy’s ears probably had betrayed her, but she swore she heard that additional ‘-sshi’ Irene put when calling her name.

 

Right. This was their first meeting—according to everyone else in the room anyway—and Wendy better acted like it. So Wendy quickly schooled her expression and shook Irene’s hand, all the while ignoring the tingling sensation the handshake caused. “Me, too. Looking forward to working together with you.”

 

“Thrilled,” responded Irene. Was it just Wendy or really Irene’s eyes were sparkling with excitement? And it made Wendy wonder why no one noticed the innuendo layered beneath her simple remark.

 

“Uh, and... this is my manager.” Wendy turned to Jessica in her attempt to escape Irene’s gaze. “Jessica Jung.”

 

Wendy observed Irene’s movement as the rapper greeted Jessica as well, now looking strangely normal as though her hormone had this switch she could easily turn on and off whenever she pleased. Then she gestured at the last woman in the room, the slanted-eye woman, whom she introduced as her manager.

 

“Kang Seulgi,” the slanted-eye woman said curtly.

 

It was probably those mono-eyelid eyes of the manager or her not-so-excited voice, but Wendy got the impression that Kang Seulgi was not the friendly type of person. And it was further proved when Kang Seulgi went back to her previous spot without muttering another word to any of them. Definitely not the type Wendy would like to have around with. Jessica, though snarky at times, was a lot more friendly than that.

 

Shortly after, Donghae made both Wendy and Irene sit at the round table in the middle of the room as he began explaining their schedule for the day. Basically, they would try to finish the recording by the end of the day. According to Donghae, when Wendy had not yet arrived earlier, the producer of the drama which would feature the song came and informed Donghae he needed the soundtrack ready before the first episode aired. Which was less than one month from that day. The sooner the better, said Donghae.

 

Wendy was the first to record her part, since it was the larger portion of the song and thus would take more time to record.

 

Well, fuck her up very much, Wendy internally cursed. She had recorded countless songs before and of course had had people watching her from behind the glass window, observing her singing and all, but none of them before had done it as though they were trying to strip Wendy naked with their eyes.

 

Unlike Irene. Who, by the way, was very shameless with her action, or at least, she was every time Wendy met eyes with the rapper. She would smile that lopsided smile of hers as Wendy returned her burning gaze, not even feeling guilty for getting caught. Staring was rude, really, even more so when done ever deliberately and daringly. As if Wendy did not need to stay focused with the song she was about to sing. As if Wendy could easily control her voice from coming out weak and faltered.

 

Little by little, Wendy started regretting her choice to collaborating with the seductress.

 

Yet Wendy managed to pull through. Thankfully. Yes, she made a few mistakes here and there—her dry throat was there to blame on. And sometimes Donghae would tell her when he wanted Wendy to hit certain notes higher or when he wanted to hear Wendy sound a little sadder at some lines, but in the end Wendy managed to make the lyricist slash composer give her an okay sign. Six years in the industry had not gone to waste after all.

 

When she finally joined Donghae and the rest in the main room, Wendy realized that she had used all the remaining hours before lunchtime. It was now a little past 12 and Donghae announced that they should take a break. At the mention of break, Lee Hyukjae who had been sitting without moving from his spot next to Donghae’s chair finally stood up—and now Wendy understood what her manager meant by ‘Lee Hyukjae is not here for the recording’. The older guy told them that he and Donghae would have lunch in a restaurant nearby and asked everyone to join them.

 

“I’m still digesting the ramen from earlier,” Wendy told her manager when Jessica asked what she would like for lunch.

 

“Right, you ate before coming here. So you don’t want anything?”

 

“No. You go eat, Unnie. I’ll wait here.”

 

“You sure?”

 

Wendy nodded. If they were all going to have lunch together— _all_ , as in Irene included—Wendy better saved herself that one hour of torture by not coming. She had almost lost her sanity standing for hours inside the recording booth under Irene’s hungry stare -- God knew what would become of Wendy if she spent another hour being preyed like that.

 

So when Donghae promised her that they would not take too long at the restaurant, probably feeling guilty for leaving Wendy alone, Wendy casually waved him off with a big grin. _Take forever if you must_ , Wendy mentally thought. She even waved at her manager who sat at the back seat of Donghae’s car, rather excitedly, and received weird looks in return. Then she saw Kang Seulgi next to Jessica, still shooting blazing laser from her foxlike eyes, and Wendy kept on waving, too happy to be offended by the woman’s rudeness.

 

And...

 

Wendy’s smile dropped.

 

There was no Irene next to Kang Seulgi.

 

How on earth...

 

The front passenger seat was already taken by Lee Hyukjae, and the back seats were occupied by her manager and Kang Seulgi, and Donghae’s car did not even have a second back seat. And... and no other car left the studio after Donghae’s.

 

But...

 

Wendy gulped. There was only one explanation to that. Irene was still inside the recording studio.

 

So Wendy rushed back inside, all the way praying that it was her eyes playing trick on her and that Irene was actually there inside Donghae’s car. But screw herself for seldom sparing her time to pray, now it was not answered right away.

 

There she was, as Wendy pulled the door open, Irene Bae, sitting crossed-leg on the round table with a mocking grin plastered on her face. As though she had been waiting for Wendy, Irene fixed her position and smiled. To look more appealing? More seductive? Wendy was too surprised to care.

 

“I don’t eat before recording, Wendy. Not good for my vocal cord.” Irene spoke, answering Wendy’s unspoken question. “The question now should be, ‘Why are _you_ here?’ You’ve finished your part.” She sounded so calm, as if the words had been practiced.

 

“You planned this.”

 

That high-pitched snicker filled up the sound-proof room. How great, really, even if Irene decided to advance toward her in this room now, no one would ever hear a sound. Wendy’s fate had been decided.

 

“Did I, now?” the rapper challengingly asked. “I didn’t come to volunteer. _You_ picked me.”

 

At that moment, it was like an imaginary light bulb inside Wendy’s head had been switched on, and Wendy realized how stupid she had been since this morning. She was the one who picked Irene for this collaboration. Why? Because she wanted to see the woman again. Because she wanted to see Irene sing inside that recording booth and had the woman held under _her_ gaze for hours. Because she fucking topped Irene Bae. She was supposed to _dominate_ this woman. So why the fuck was she feeling inferior when she could and should be the one controlling this game?

 

So when Irene finally pushed herself off the table and walked up to Wendy, Wendy did not step back. Instead, she closed the door that she had been holding all this while and crossed her arms over her chest, daring Irene to come any closer.

 

The challenge was read perfectly by the raven-haired woman, and she stopped right before Wendy, leaving them just enough space so to not bump into the other’s nose.

 

“I heard Lee Donghae did not install CCTVs in this room to maintain his privacy,” Irene said, raising one hand to Wendy’s neck ever slyly.

 

“So what?”

 

“Nothing.”

 

“Your hair...” Wendy began, her own hand finding its way to dark locks of hair. She let her fingers run through it before going back up and settling against Irene’s jawline. Wendy did not notice it before but Irene had a very define jawline and she wondered how it felt like to run her tongue along it.

 

“What about it?” Irene broke the silence. “What about my hair?”

 

“Different.” Wendy forgot what she originally wanted to say about Irene’s hair, so she settled with that and let the rest of her thought remain unspoken as she leaned in and pressed her lips against Irene’s jaw.

 

That gasp that left Irene’s mouth was unmistakable, and immediately after Wendy felt a hand grab her hair. As if in synch, Wendy brought her other hand to Irene’s waist to keep the woman in place as she very dutifully mapped her way across Irene’s jawline, memorizing its contour. Irene smelt like vanilla, Wendy noticed, as she stopped at the meet of Irene’s jaw and ear. She licked the spot once, smiling to herself when she heard Irene moan in response, and then kissed it repeatedly, careful as to not leave any mark.

 

“God, Wendy...” she could feel Irene’s throat vibrate as she spoke, “at this rate everyone will be back before we can get this done with.”

 

Wendy had not done processing Irene’s words when suddenly she was interrupted and pushed back, causing her head to hit the door with a loud thud. “Hey—” Wendy did not even get to finish her protest for Irene had muted her by biting her lower lips, rather aggressively Wendy sure it would bleed.

 

“Toilet.” The rapper pulled away, somehow looking frustrated. “First stall. Five minutes.”

 

“What...?”

 

“I need to pee first. Come in five minutes.”

 

And then Irene pushed Wendy aside and left without another word, leaving Wendy alone to her malfunctioning brain.

 

\--------


	4. Chapter 4

Wendy had been in the recording studio before—she had recorded many songs after all, and the place was among the popular studios, of course it was not her first time there. However, as Wendy made her way to the toilet, it took her almost one full minute just to figure out which way she should turn to when the hallway branched out in two directions. Her brain had somehow malfunctioned from the massive amount of excitement rushing through her vessels, and even to think straight she could not.

 

Like, she was in the middle of a goddamn job, for God’s sake. She was supposed to act like a professional until the job’s done. Yet there she was, taking big strides to the toilet, following the whisper of the devil as if she had been possessed, while very much aware that Irene’s ‘come in five minutes’ could only mean sex.

 

The toilet door was open as Wendy reached there, and so was the first stall, showing a very calm-looking Irene Bae. The rapper was sitting on a closed toilet, arms crossed over her chest. As soon as she met eyes with Wendy, the flame in those dark orbs ignited, and Wendy knew the moment she stepped her feet inside the toilet, it was game over for her. This was Irene’s game, and she obviously wanted to know just how badly Wendy wanted her.

 

So Wendy halted her steps. She stood there in the doorway, returning the smug grin a bit challengingly, and felt amused when Irene’s faltered in response. This might be Irene’s game, and hell, Wendy wanted her so bad, but Wendy never played a game she could not win.

 

It did not come as a surprise to Wendy that the staring contest did not last long. It took Irene only three seconds to jump from her seat, stride across the toilet, and literally throw herself at Wendy. Wendy allowed Irene to attack her lips, feeling the rapper’s urge from her sloppy kiss, before pushing the woman back a little.

 

“Be nice, Irene,” Wendy told her, earning a scoff in return.

 

“Show me how.”

 

“Well—” Wendy took the time to switch their positions and dragged Irene into the restroom in small steps, “you can start with thanking me for choosing you for this collaboration.”

 

Irene did not even waste any second to respond to that with, “What about you tell me why you chose me, and then I’ll decide whether the reason is something I should be thankful about.”

 

That silenced Wendy, and Irene used that brief pause to push Wendy and herself further inside. Before long, Wendy found herself being seated nicely on a toilet with Irene straddling her. Once again, Wendy was on the losing end. Sometimes Wendy wondered just how many cards Irene had up her sleeve yet to be revealed.

 

“We can start with the reason you chose me over the God Rapper Lee Hyukjae, or not at all, because I really don’t care and I know we both know the answer. So why don’t you shut up and just do me?”

 

Wendy brought her hands to the small of Irene’s back, “We’re not having sex in the toilet. It’s dirty.”

 

“It’s hygienic enough,” insisted Irene. “You didn’t touch anything while coming in here. I opened the doors, remember?” Then she went for Wendy’s neck, nipping on the skin, apparently trying to convince her.

 

“Is your libido always this high?”

 

Irene reached Wendy’s collarbone, and Wendy could feel teeth grazing her skin as the rapper spoke, “Or you can stop looking so fuckable every time we meet.”

 

Wendy actually found herself laughing at that statement—even making Irene stop her ministration and level her eyes with Wendy’s—before saying, “Now that is funny, because every time it’s you begging me to fuck you.”

 

“For someone who sing boring songs, you sure talk a lot,” retorted Irene.

 

“It’s ballad.”

 

“Gosh, Wendy... are you ever going to fuck me or what?”

 

Wendy flashed Irene a smile, “No.”

 

“Killjoy.”

 

“Heard that a lot.” Yet Wendy did not loosen her hold around Irene’s waist. Instead, she pulled Irene closer and told her to stay still, then with one hand she lifted Irene’s right hand. Wendy was about to turn the palm to face her when she caught Irene wince from the movement.

 

“Hurt my wrist while moving this big box the other day.”

 

“Be careful next time,” Wendy murmured. Then she brought Irene’s hand closer for inspection and noticed purple-ish bruises around her wrist. From the look of it, it must have hurt a lot.

 

“It’s a lot better today,” said Irene, answering Wendy’s silent question.

 

Wendy hummed as a response, and then instead of going for her palm, Wendy pressed her lips against those bruises. Ever so carefully she moved against the soft skin, feeling those tiny beats of Irene’s heart beneath—that soon made Wendy smile inwardly as she noticed how unsteady those beats were. Erratic.  And Wendy thought it was very amusing how Irene still listened to her request to not move despite the brutal refusal from her hormone.

 

“You’re exceptionally gentle today,” came a remark from the woman on top, voice barely audible. “Did something happen?”

 

“You dyed your hair. It reminds me of someone I knew,” admitted Wendy. She halted her action, putting Irene’s hand back to her shoulder, to touch those black locks of hair. Irene’s hair was silk, and it escaped Wendy’s grasp before Wendy could fully get a hold of it.

 

“Your ex? Was she any better than I am?”

 

“Not my ex, and no, I definitely did not have sex with that person.”

 

“Such a nun.”

 

Wendy could feel Irene smiling against her lips as she caught hers in a long, deep kiss, momentarily silencing the too-talkative rapper.

 

They had shared countless kisses during their first night together. It was not supposed to be something new to Wendy, and yes, it was indeed a familiar feeling, to have those plump lips pressed against her thin ones, but this was not as needy. Sure Wendy had that urge at the back of her head to just slam Irene against the door and screw her right there and then, but it was not as overwhelming. She wanted this woman, yet not in such an animalistic sense as their first time.

 

And now as the beast was not controlling her, Wendy finally noticed how Irene’s movements were almost in-synch with her own. How the woman would tilted her head a little more to give Wendy better access, how she would part her lips and grant Wendy an access to explore the inside of her mouth, how she would wrap her arms around Wendy’s neck to pull her closer—everything just seemed to fit perfectly and it felt so artistic Wendy wanted to picture each and every movement.

 

Even when they were running out of breath, they knew just when to pull apart. Though neither actually pulled away for both were leaning their forehead against the other. And from the way Irene was looking at her with dazed eyes, Wendy knew this bizarre thing was not a one-sided phenomenon.

 

It was magical... somewhat, and to think they were doing it in a goddamn public toilet.

 

“Fuck, Wendy,” Irene breathed out through gritted teeth, hands finding their way to Wendy’s hair and pulling on it hard. “I’m so _not_ gonna do this collaboration if you walk out of this toilet now doing nothing but messing with my brain like this.”

 

Wendy chuckled to that, then bit Irene’s lower lips. “Blackmailing me for sex?”

 

The rapper grunted, “Thirty minutes left on the clock— _shit_.”

 

“Yeah, shit,” Wendy whispered in Irene’s ear. Her hand had travelled south, reaching the rapper’s core without much trouble for Irene was wearing a short skirt that day, and effectively rendering Irene speechless. She ran her index finger along the damp fabric and watched Irene writhe at the contact. Then she moved her lips to continue what she had been interrupted of doing earlier, mapping Irene’s jawline—Wendy never considered herself to have a fetish, but Irene’s jaw was simply attractive to the point Wendy was tempted to bite and leave a mark.

 

“Don’t even think about it,” breathed Irene, looking down at Wendy through half-lidded eyes, and Wendy realized she just vocalized her thought out loud.

 

“Show me where I’m allowed to then,” Wendy demanded. She put more pressure on her fingers to indicate her bargain, triggering a low moan from the other woman.

 

“Nowhere.”

 

“Ouch,” Wendy responded, faking a hurt tone, yet her hand had slipped past the thin fabric. Flicking a fold between her fingers, Wendy went idle, “Why do I feel used all of a sudden?”

 

That one sigh Irene let out was throaty, and Wendy remembered ever hearing nothing sexier than that. With one free hand Irene unbuttoned the first few buttons of her shirt, revealing her black bra for Wendy to see. Then she grabbed a fistful of Wendy’s hair, and brought Wendy’s head closer to her now exposed chest. “Try to shut a bit,” she commanded.

 

And Wendy gladly did.

 

This was more than what Wendy originally thought. She was not naïve, really, she _knew_ the attraction was there. From the way Irene ever so boldly approached her that night to how she herself ever openly answered to the temptation. To hell with her curiosity about Irene, because deep down Wendy knew that was not even half the reason she wanted to do this collaboration with the woman. As Irene said, they both knew why, and everything about it was purely physical.

 

Wendy knew that and that was exactly what she wanted.

 

When Irene grinded her hips into her wrist to get more friction, or when Irene arched her back to get Wendy’s mouth pressed harder against her breast, Wendy got the confirmation she needed. It was mutual. That desire, Irene had it just as bad.

 

In short, they were basically messes. Who goes around fucking their colleague but messed up people?

 

Who cares anyway?

 

Wendy didn’t.

 

Neither did Irene, it seemed, for her brain had just been squeezed out of her core along with her release. And Irene was afloat, weightless, and Wendy had to kiss her throat repeatedly to drag her down back to reality.

 

“I’m gonna leave a mark one day.”

 

“Hmm?” Irene reopened her eyes lazily, still looking pretty dazed to have a proper conversation with.

 

“I’ll leave a mark one day,” Wendy repeated nonetheless.

 

“Are you saying you want to have sex with me again, you pervert?”

 

“If ever we meet again, why not?” Where had that reserved personality of hers gone? Spending too much time with Irene had turned Wendy into an equally shameless person.

 

“Then you must treat me to dinner,” decided Irene fast.

 

“Deal. Now, we need to clean up,” she paused. “Well, _you_ need. Come.”

 

Wendy held Irene’s thigh as she stood up, and instead of standing on her own feet, Irene wrapped her legs around Wendy’s waist almost automatically, leaning her full weight on the vocalist. It was just a short walk to the sink anyway, Wendy shrugged, and continued to carry Irene there.

 

While Irene busy cleaning up, Wendy went back to the recording room to fetch her make-up and Irene’s handbag, and brought it to the toilet. Save for the ‘thanks’ Irene muttered while receiving her bag, the toilet was quiet. They both fixed their make-up equally quietly, until Irene broke the silence, announcing that one of her shirt buttons was gone.

 

“You owe me a shirt button,” declared the raven-haired woman, pointing at her shirt. True, the second one from top was nowhere in sight.

 

“Huh? I’m the one who lost it?”

 

“Definitely.”

 

“Unbelievable.”

 

“Well, I guess it can’t be helped.” Irene leaned closer to the mirror and stared at her reflection. “I’ll just leave it as it is.”

 

Wendy looked over at Irene’s reflection. Nothing looked out of ordinary actually, if one did not look close enough. Then again they all would be observing Irene while the woman sang later. It would be noticeable. Besides, with two buttons off, Wendy could clearly see Irene’s cleavage.

 

“You’re staring.”

 

“I have pins,” Wendy announced instantly, eyes leaving the mirror before Irene’s grin could grew wider. “Here, let me fix that.”

 

She actually had some. Thankfully. So Wendy took one and made Irene turn to face her.

 

“This one is my favorite, you know?” Irene tried conversing with her.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Yeah. And correct me if I’m wrong, but I get the impression that you did it on purpose. Just so you can buy me a new shirt thus can meet me again when giving it to me. Wrong?”

 

“Stay still for a bit,” Wendy answered. Honestly, she did not know what she was doing. The small size of her safety pin was not helping at all. She could accidentally jab Irene with the pin or something. After some twisting and readjusting, she finally succeeded. There, she thought to herself in satisfaction, now Irene’s cleavage—

 

Before she could even finish her thought, she was once again interrupted and attacked. By the same person as well as the same pair of lips. Her back hit the tiled wall behind her hard yet the kiss muffled her scream of pain.

 

She could feel Irene’s body pressed against her own, and Wendy had to hold the rapper by her shoulder and push her back firmly in order to stop the kiss from escalating to whatever Irene had in mind.

 

“Your hormone sure got no chill,” she commented.

 

Irene grinned, not looking ashamed at all. “You should see the frown you made while fixing my shirt. It’s distracting.”

 

“Great. Now we have to reapply the lipstick _again_.”

 

This time, Wendy made sure to keep the eye contact at normal level. Everyone would be back any minute now, and they could not afford to be caught doing things professionals should not be doing at work.

 

And soon it would be Irene’s turn to be inside the recording booth and Wendy’s to be the one observing. For the next few hours, she would have Irene held under her gaze just like she wanted. Wendy smiled to herself as the realization hit her.

 

It’s time for revenge.

 

\--------


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick chapter to peek inside Irene’s brain. Enjoy.

“It sounds perfectly okay to me.”

 

“Well,” Irene looked down from her manicured nails to her cup of coffee, “that’s your opinion, not mine.” She needed a refill, she decided, seeing the empty cup. She relayed this to her manager who was sitting next to her.

 

“It’s a breakup song anyway,” said Seulgi, not taking the cup from Irene, “it’s supposed to sound bland somewhat.”

 

Irene rose to her feet, clutching her empty cup close, and said, “I’m buying another cup. You can start the car now.”

 

They were in the middle of a light discussion about the soundtrack Irene had recorded the other day. The end result was out, and earlier Lee Donghae had called Irene to come over to listen to it. And Irene did not like it. Not necessarily hate it, either, but it was probably because she had never gone through what the ‘I’ in the song had, she did not know if she actually had conveyed the right kind of emotion through her rap. Being someone who had listened to Irene’s rapping the most, Irene asked Seulgi’s opinion.

 

Though asking Seulgi did not make her satisfied, either. The girl liked it. ‘Perfectly okay’. Seulgi never looked sad or depressed or whatever, so Irene did not know on what the younger girl based her opinion. Was it you-have-tried kind of okay or you-did-well one?

 

It was not like the song was bad, actually. Lee Donghae wrote a great lyric and composed it just as well, and he even made the so-called OST Queen Wendy Shon sang it. It’s just that her voice—Irene was disappointed with it, how she sounded so far from her own expectation in the song and all.

 

“It’s okay. The song, it’s okay,” Seulgi repeated as she drove the car out of the parking lot.

 

“It’s because you drink black coffee with no sugar,” Irene commented. “I like some sugar and cream in mine.”

 

Seulgi snorted at that, throwing a what-is-that-supposed-to-mean look at Irene.

 

“I just, you know, I think I should sound sadder? The poor heroine was breaking up with her love interest through the song and I made her sound like a heartless robot while at it.” Irene clicked her tongue, “I don’t know, Lee Donghae looked satisfied.”

 

“You’re the only one who isn’t,” replied Seulgi fast.

 

Irene frowned a little upon hearing Seulgi’s remark. That was another thing that had been her concern since earlier in Lee Donghae’s studio. “I wouldn’t say that,” she spoke. “Wendy Shon and her manager weren’t there to listen to it.”

 

“She would’ve let Composer Lee know if she didn’t like it, wouldn’t she?”

 

Irene’s frown grew deeper, and she threw her gaze outside the window, not wanting Seulgi to see it. At times like this, she wondered if Seulgi really was younger than her by three years, because the girl made a lot more sense than Irene oftentimes. But it was not Irene if she did not try to win an argument—or at least, to end it with a sentence that made her sound like the winner.

 

“You just don’t want me to go back inside the recording booth,” accused Irene. “That’s the only reason you’ve been comforting me about it.”

 

Which was partly correct, she thought, considering her manager’s hesitation when Irene first received the offer. They were supposed to go to Japan next month for Irene’s first Japanese single preparation, and Seulgi had tried to squeeze Irene’s remaining schedules to fit in the little time they had in Korea. Adding a recording session to the list was a no, no to Seulgi.

 

It was, of course, a no, no to Irene, had she not seen ‘Wendy’ written next to the song title in Seulgi’s notebook. Wendy Shon was, like, way up there in the music industry, and unlike other singers who aimed for the fame, she rarely featured any other singers in her songs. So their raging hormones aside, Irene honestly felt honored she was given a chance to collaborate with the other woman.

 

The brief silence was interrupted by Seulgi, who went on saying, “I see the way she looked at you. I don’t like it.”

 

“Who?” Irene blinked once, pulling herself back to reality, and turned to Seulgi.

 

“Wendy Shon,” answered the younger matter-of-factly. “You think I didn’t notice? And yes, you’re right, I don’t want you to go back to that recording studio. I don’t like her.”

 

Irene almost burst out laughing upon hearing Seulgi’s tone. For someone who always acted like the adult between them, Kang Seulgi could be very childish at times. “You’re being weird.”

 

“I probably am. Now, where should I drop you?”

 

“Ah, we’re almost there. There, just three blocks away from here would do.”

 

Irene began putting on her scarf and mask. She might not be the most famous singer in South Korea, but paparazzi would always be there. Ever since she released that single months ago, it irked Irene how they were practically _everywhere_. It would be nice, for a private occasion like this one, if they would not pry on her.

 

“I’m not actually dropping you to meet your other secret lover, am I?”

 

She was about to get off when she heard that dry tone of her manager’s. Irene laughed, “You should practice your joke more often, Seul—”

 

“Unnie,” the younger girl interrupted, hand reaching for Irene’s, gripping it tight. “ _Am_ I?” The look on Seulgi’s face was foreign, not one Irene had ever seen before, but it was obvious that the younger girl was not doing it for the sake of fun.

 

“I’m just paying a visit to my mother,” Irene finally answered, and as immediately she witnessed the change in Seulgi’s expression. “See that pathway over there? That’ll lead to the cemetery, in case you already forgot about it.”

 

Seulgi looked in the direction, stayed quiet for a moment before letting go of Irene’s hand. Leaning back against her seat, Seulgi positioned her hands on the steer without another word.

 

“Are you coming?” asked Irene out of pure politeness.

 

“Dead people are dead. Remembering will not bring them back to life,” came a nonchalant response from Seulgi.

 

Irene smiled inwardly. What was she expecting anyway? Seulgi never came to visit since the funeral, she knew. So instead of trying to change the younger girl’s mind, Irene leaned forward and gave Seulgi a kiss on the cheek. “Drive back home safely,” she said.

 

Frankly speaking, Irene did not visit her mother as often either. She only did twice a year, one on the woman’s death anniversary and the other on her birthday. Her visit today was for the second purpose. Though she was not close with her mother—never was, and never wish she had been—Irene believed someone should not be left alone on their birthday.

 

Her steps came to a halt before her mother’s grave. This was her sixth visit, and Irene did what she always did every time she came. She stood there, not saying hi or whatever, and just silently stared down at the gravestone. It was not like she wanted to say something to her mother—well, she used to, long, long time ago before she declared her decision to pursue singing as a career. But that was long ago, and even now Irene doubted her mother would have taken an interest in whatever that happened in Irene’s life as a singer.

 

Five minutes were Irene’s limit. Finally, she bended down a little, touched the gravestone with one hand, and whispered a happy birthday before making her way out of the cemetery.

 

It was not until Irene lifted up her head that she noticed another presence nearby. There, a little further in the cemetery, sitting on a long, wooden chair was a woman in a knee-length coat. Her face was hidden behind her mask and scarf, and her expression made her look so distant that Irene had to blink a few times to make sure she was not mistaken.

 

Irene closed the distance between her and the woman and stopped right in front of her. She was not wrong. This woman was indeed her.

 

Wendy Shon.

 

And she looked distracted for some reasons that Irene did not know about. It looked like Wendy’s mind was pretty preoccupied at the moment for she did not even notice Irene’s presence, so pale in comparison to the Wendy Shon Irene remembered.

 

Irene touched Wendy’s cheek carefully, hard enough to snatch her back to reality, but gentle enough to not startle her. The pair of eyes that then looked up and met Irene’s gaze was red and puffy. Wendy Shon looked so pitiful, and Irene was having a hard time fighting the urge to wipe that trace of tear on her cheek.

 

She smiled to one side, “You’re not actually shooting for your new music video, are you?”

 

At that, Wendy chuckled a little. She patted the spot next to her and shook her head quietly. “I never starred in my own music videos before,” she pointed out.

 

“Ah, that’s true.” Irene swiftly took her seat next to Wendy, then she looked around. The spot was in the deepest corner of the cemetery, with only one big tree standing tall nearby. Complete that with Wendy’s attire which consisted of a scarf, a mask, glasses, and thick layers of clothes—a perfect reflection of Irene’s own outfit. Anyone who glanced in their direction would simply see them as random strangers who were mourning their deceased loved ones deep in the cemetery. Not that the place was so open for anyone to notice anyway.

 

“Fancy meeting you here,” Irene continued, not really sure what to say to the woman. ‘How are you’ was definitely out of the question, because Wendy was obviously not okay. Yet it was not like they were that close for Irene to casually ask the singer what was troubling her.

 

“It’s a good thing, though. Meeting you here.”

 

“How so?”

 

“So I can test out how well I disguise myself,” said Wendy. “Considering you could easily notice me, I think I need to upgrade it a bit.”

 

“Oh...” Irene raised an eyebrow at the woman beside her, a smile threatening to break at one corner of her lips. “Did you just tease me?”

 

“What? Why would you think that?”

 

“ _‘No matter how different I look in my disguise, you still recognize me. Oh, Irene Bae, you’re so whipped._ ’” Irene shrugged, then turned away, “Something along that line?”

 

“What would that make me then? I also recognized you right away.”

 

Irene did not even need to spare Wendy a glance to know that now the singer was grinning, seemingly amused and satisfied of her own answer. “Smooth-talker,” she murmured.

 

The next few minutes were spent in silence, and it was not an awkward one. Then again, Irene never considered any silent moment she had with anyone as awkward. She had always loved the quietness, and be it with someone she knew well, Irene never had the urge to break the ice. She did not have this urgency to learn about something in someone’s life. She would rather, though not exactly expecting it, answer questions from her companion.

 

However, there were exceptions, like today, because she just heard the final version of that OST she recorded with Wendy and was dying to prove Seulgi’s argument invalid. So she began, “Lee Donghae likes the song.”

 

Wendy’s eyebrows curled up into a frown.

 

“Uh, the soundtrack?” Irene said. The singer forgot already? No wonder she did not come to the studio earlier. That realization strangely made Irene even more disappointed, the fact that she was the only who was so concerned about the damn song when everybody else had moved on with life and whatnot.

 

“Oh yeah...” Wendy exclaimed, nodding excitedly. “Yes, my manager told me about it. He sounded very happy, I figured.”

 

“Do _you_ like it?”

 

“Well,” Wendy pulled back a little and took a good look at Irene, seemingly thinking of what to say. “If you’re asking me specifically about your part, whether I like it or not, then yes, I do. At first, I doubted the song would turn out well with rap added to it. I mean, the genre was supposed to be ballad, a sad song, and regardless the choice of rapper, they would just ruin it. No offense,” Wendy quickly added.

 

“None taken.”

 

“But I was proven wrong.” Wendy smiled, looking proud. “I listened to it on my way here, and I must say you did an awesome job delivering that feeling of loss.”

 

Irene blinked, skeptical of her own ear. “I did?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“It just sounds bland to me. Lifeless.”

 

“That’s how it’s supposed to be,” Wendy stated. “You know, that feeling you feel when you lose someone important?”

 

The singer left her words hanging for a brief moment as she turned her head away, looking in the direction of graves before them. Somewhere in the sea of graves, there must lie one that belonged to someone dear to this singer. Her parents. So Irene followed suit, a part of her expecting to notice any gravestone that read ‘Shon’.

 

But she did not. Instead, her eyes immediately located one that was her mother’s. She turned away and focused her eyes on the woman next to her again, quietly admitting, “I don’t.”

 

“Well, it’s empty,” said Wendy. “Lifeless, if we must use your choice of adjective.”

 

There was an edge of intimacy in Wendy’s voice, and Irene felt so out of place hearing that tone. Such hurtful feeling, Irene believed, should not be shared with just anyone. Yet here she was, a mere stranger to Wendy Shon—who, by the way, had shared nothing but glorious sex sessions with—listening to the singer’s most intimate, painful emotion.

 

“Say,” Wendy called out, popping Irene’s bubble of thoughts. The smile had returned to the singer’s face. “Are we now already at the stage for me to be allowed to invite you for diner?”

 

Irene returned the smile, very much up to lifting up the gloomy mood. “You mean, having sex without alcohol involved? Out of pure free will?”

 

“I didn’t even mention sex. Didn’t you say I should treat you to diner if ever we met again? I’m fulfilling that promise.”

 

“You could’ve just come to the studio,” Irene pointed out.

 

“Well, I prefer things to be a bit more challenging. Come, I’ll cook.”

 

Irene snorted at Wendy’s extended hand, suddenly recalling the breakfast that they ended up not eating the other day.

 

“What?”

 

“You sure you’ll cook?” Irene stared at Wendy with a half-smile on her face. “I mean, you’ll soon forget whatever idea you have for diner once I step in your kitchen. I’m irresistible that way.”

 

It took Wendy a moment to respond. When she finally did, she was already on feet, one hand still extended to Irene, and she finally sounded like the attractive, full of sex appeal Wendy Shon Irene knew.

 

“We can test out how irresistible you are once I eat some real food. So are you coming or not?”

 

\-------- 


	6. Chapter 6

Soft tunes that had been filling up the white living room soon died down as the song came to an end. And as Wendy lifted up her fingers from the keys, a round of applause followed. It lasted longer than expected, and Wendy could see an amused grin decorate Irene’s lips. _Finally_ , Wendy thought, _a song this rapper understands_.

 

They had arrived at Wendy’s house half an hour ago, and it was not diner time yet. Wendy had suggested them to watch something to kill time, but Irene scoffed at her instantly, without forgetting to point out how boring it was. And Wendy gave up, letting out a sigh rather dramatically and asking the raven-haired woman what she would like to do instead.

 

“Play me a song,” said Irene simply, and that was how she ended up sitting at her piano with Irene standing next to it, being a faithful yet full-of-critics listener—meaning she listened to two songs Wendy played her but had so much to say to each. Which was why Wendy smiled a little too wide when the rapper stayed silent after the third one and just continued clapping. Who knew Irene Bae loved cheesy stuff like Alicia Keys’ If I Ain’t Got You?

 

“Your English is great,” was the first thing Irene said after she was done clapping.

 

Wendy shrugged and answered with a response she always gave every time her English skill was complimented, “I used to live in Canada.”

 

Irene hummed, nodding slightly, which in turn made Wendy frown a little. Anyone who heard of the fact for the first time always threw a follow-up question like how many years she had lived in Canada and why, and they would praise Wendy that her English was really, really good. Then again, Irene had always been different than many people Wendy had met before. Giving an unnecessary compliment like that probably was not her thing.

 

“Why didn’t you come to Lee Donghae’s studio today?” Irene’s question interrupted the brief silence. There was a sense of urgency in her voice, and Wendy looked up just in time to see a frown plastered on the rapper’s forehead.

 

“I didn’t know my absence would concern you that much. It’s the second time you mentioned it,” Wendy pointed out, hands readily on the piano, and she began playing once again. This time it was the 1st verse of that OST she recorded with Irene the other day.

 

Contrary to her manager’s belief, being a ballad singer did not necessarily mean that Wendy’s favorite genre was ballad. It’s just that compared to funky and noisy pop songs, Wendy preferred the calming tone of ballad songs more. There was a sense of healing while listening to those soft tunes, and it had been a while since the last time Wendy found a good song to listen to. Like, real quality, and not some random words mixed together and composed ever carelessly. Lee Donghae’s song had that, and as soon as she first listened to it on her way to the cemetery earlier, it had become Wendy’s new favorite song.

 

However, her play paused when she was about to reach Irene’s part of the song, eyes darting open, staring at her piano challengingly.

 

“Did my voice disturb your tranquility?”

 

Wendy looked up and found Irene observing her with eyes twinkling in mischievousness. She shook her head slightly and admitted, “I don’t know how to play that part yet.”

 

“Too bad,” said Irene, clicking her tongue, “I thought you were trying to impress me.”

 

It was obvious that Irene was trying to get a response from Wendy, and really, if it was not for today, Wendy would gladly flirt back. Wasn’t that what the two of them had been doing since their first meet? However, today just was not the day for Wendy to bring that side of hers out. Hell, she even purposely emptied her schedule for the day just so she could be her miserable self and mourn in peace. God knew how she ended up meeting Irene at the most unlikely place for them to meet _._ Let alone inviting her for diner.

 

“Do you play?” she finally spoke again, determined to change the topic.

 

“Someone told me I should, but I’m not there yet.” Then Irene extended her hand and started pushing on some keys randomly, producing sounds that would definitely lead to a headache if prolonged.

 

So Wendy reached out and grabbed Irene by the wrist, saving herself from the possible headache, and made the other woman giggle.

 

“It’s not that bad,” Irene defended herself.

 

“I believe you,” said Wendy quickly, turning Irene’s giggle into laughter. It was loud and sounded so weird Wendy could not help but to laugh herself.

 

Irene was the first to recover, and as soon as her laughter died down, she ever swiftly twisted her wrist that was still in Wendy’s hold so now they were hand in hand. Smile flashed in Irene’s eyes as she looked down at their clasped hands, and that was when Wendy noticed how good looking the rapper was. Pretty. Beautiful...?

 

“What are you thinking?” asked Irene, meeting Wendy’s gaze. “You’re thinking too loud but about a lot of things all at once; I can’t understand.”

 

There was concern decorating Irene’s expression, and it was genuine, long gone her witty side. Then Wendy looked at their hands again and saw how Irene’s thumb shifted to caress hers. Perhaps not being alone on her parents’ death anniversary was not a bad thing after all.

 

So she tugged on Irene’s hand a little until Irene moved from her spot, and guided the rapper to a full stop in front of her. The piano cried out as Wendy pushed Irene a little against it to get a better look at the latter. She held the rapper there, just staring back at Irene’s questioning gaze, still unsure whether Irene was really up to a sad story of a child losing her parents in a car accident or not.

 

It was Irene’s touch that encouraged her to speak. The woman tapped her cheek like she did back in the cemetery and then held Wendy’s face between her palms, as though aware of the fact that Wendy would set afloat if not held still and firmly.

 

“It’s hard to have a conversation with me, isn’t it?” Wendy asked rhetorically, allowing herself to lean in to Irene’s touch. “I’m sorry, I’m being difficult today. I’m not usually like this.”

 

Irene did not say anything back, and continued to stay silent as Wendy rested her forehead against her abdomen, hands had moved to the back of Wendy’s head, hugging her close, once again surprising Wendy with this so unlikely caring side of hers.

 

Don’t get her wrong, but this was definitely not what Wendy had expected by inviting Irene to her house. As pervert as it would make Wendy be, a part of her was hoping Irene would seduce her like she had done every time they met before, and that they would have yet another mind-blowing sex. Perhaps with some alcohol involved, so she could sleep the dreadful night away.

 

But to be comforted by the seductress? This was completely unexpected.

 

No one had ever comforted her for her loss—well, a few had tried to the first few days after the accident, but they had stopped altogether because she herself had dismissed any sort of kind gestures everyone offered her. Rather impolitely, now that she thought about it. Even her manager just silently emptied her schedule on the day without asking whether Wendy wanted to or not, and left Wendy alone to herself.

 

But then Irene moved her thumb in circle against Wendy’s nape, eliciting her nerves awake to the foreign sensation, and Wendy could not deny that it felt nice. So long not receiving any comfort from anyone, this silent comfort Irene was giving her might be the best remedy to the mess that was her brain.

 

And again Wendy had to remind herself that Irene did not even know the reason behind it all. Don’t people always ask, “What happened?” when they see you down? Wendy was thankful that Irene didn’t.

 

\--

 

It was still dark when Wendy woke up. A digital clock on her bedside table told her it was 2 past midnight.

 

Still a bit groggy, she pushed herself up to a sitting position and looked in the direction of the window. It opened and allowed the night wind to blow into the room, being the sole reason of her awake at this ungodly hour. Past the white curtain that was still dancing in harmony with the wind, out at the balcony, Wendy saw a slim figure wrapped in a blanket standing. Irene, and she had her back facing Wendy, obviously unaware that she had awaken the singer.

 

The blanket did not fully cover the rapper’s body, and her left shoulder was showing, gleaming in silver white under the moonlight, a perfect mismatch with her shiny dark hair. For the second time that night, Wendy was reminded that this woman indeed had good genes. Gorgeous. Attractive.

 

And Wendy really hated to disturb the art but the night was windy and Irene might catch a cold standing there for far too long, so she called out, “Why are you out there?” voice raspy, and it made Irene turn around nonetheless.

 

The rapper had a cigarette between her fingers and was puffing out smoke through her nose before answering, “I forgot to ask whether you’re okay your room smelled like shit. I’d rather to not wake up to a grumpy Wendy Shon, so here I am.”

 

The lopsided smile on Irene’s lips was teasing, yet Wendy did not retort right away. Instead, she allowed herself to drink in the sight that was Bae Joohyun. How those strands of her hair fell to one side of her face, blocking the light from illuminating her face completely, leaving that one side of her in the dark, distant and untouchable. Mysterious all the same.

 

“Give me one of those,” she said at last, eyes staring at the rapper’s pack of cigarettes, internally wondering just how often Irene smoked in one day.

 

“You don’t smoke,” said Irene matter-of-factly, an eyebrow rising in challenge.

 

“I have exceptions.”

 

“What’s the occasion?”

 

Wendy deliberately missed a second to respond, giving herself one last notice that she was about to drag her parents’ death into the picture, and finally said, “The reason you found me in cemetery earlier. My parents’ death anniversary.”

 

More seconds had gone to waste as Irene did nothing but taking another draw from her cigarette and returning Wendy’s gaze. Wendy had expected Irene to give an instant response like exclaiming in surprise and striding in Wendy’s direction all the while muttering different sorts of condolence and stuff. However, she did not, and she just stood there as though she had known all along and was just waiting for Wendy to admit it herself.

 

It was as if Irene had known everything needed to know about Wendy, so contrast compared to Wendy’s so little knowledge of the other woman, and it made Wendy shiver in astonishment.

 

Yet Wendy was spared no second to find out whether she actually deserved this much attention or if Irene actually had known about it beforehand, because then Irene walked up to her. Her steps turned into crawls as she climbed on the bed, blanket tossed to the side, and Wendy spread her hands readily, welcoming Irene to come and sit on her lap.

 

“It might burn your throat,” warned the raven-haired woman, “try to not hold it in for too long.”

 

Instead of handing Wendy the cigarette, however, Irene brought it to her own lips and nothing prepared Wendy for what to come next.

 

With her free arm, Irene hugged Wendy’s neck and brought her closer while she took one long, deep draw from her cigarette once more. Then she looked down at Wendy before leaning in, lips slightly parted, and Wendy instinctively did what she thought she should be doing. She parted her lips as well, feeling Irene’s pressed against hers, and allowed the smoke to fill the space in her mouth. There was this uncomfortable heat ready to tickle her throat, but Wendy remembered what Irene said about keeping it in briefly, and she carefully lifted up her head to exhale the residual before it burned down her access to fresh air.

 

She did not keep it for that long to define how it felt, but it was spicy somewhat and sweet at the same time—both literally and figuratively, given the way she had received it, and the most important point was she did not cough on her first try. This definitely was an achievement worth rewarded, and so Irene agreed as she once again leaned in, rewarding Wendy with a peck on the mouth.

 

“For someone with a foul mouth, you can be romantic. Surprisingly.”

 

Irene snorted at that, “I think we need to reestablish your definition of romantic.  Another one?” the raven-haired woman offered, to which Wendy shook her head.

 

“Next time, maybe.”

 

“Fair enough.” Irene shrugged, opening her cigarette pack and placing it on the bedside table to kill the burning cigarette. Then she looked back at Wendy, a grin plastered on her lips, “Feeling better now, baby boy? Or should I kiss you to sleep?”

 

“Baby boy?”

 

“Seungwan, that’s your Korean name, right?” Irene then pointed at a necklace hung at the other side of the bedroom, bringing Wendy’s attention to it. “No offense, but that’s a boy’s name. No wonder you’re using an English name.”

 

Wendy stared at the necklace in question a second longer before finally noticing some Hangul characters crafted on it that read ‘Seungwan’. A coming-of-age present from her father, she recalled. Then she glanced back at Irene before lying herself down the mattress and tugging the other woman along.

 

“I haven’t used that name for a long time. I almost forgot,” she admitted.

 

“Why?” Irene questioned, her forefinger already busy poking Wendy’s cheek. “Too embarrassed to be called by a boyish name? Afraid it would ruin your image, Seungwan-sshi?”

 

Wendy groaned in pure agony. She should have hung that necklace somewhere else. “No one has called me that since my parents, now you remind me how embarrassing that name is.”

 

Only after those words left her mouth that Wendy realized how depressing she sounded. And true enough, as she opened her eyes again she was greeted by a pair of concerned dark orbs.

 

She lifted a hand to touch Irene’s face. “I’m just saying that it’s been a while, and I forgot that I used to feel embarrassed being called ‘Seungwan’. I’m okay now,” she said, surprising herself that such confession actually just slipped past her lips.

 

When was the last time she felt okay? She could not even remember, but those dark orbs were staring right at her, and Wendy hated how they were clouded with worry instead of twinkling in excitement the way Wendy had come to love them.

 

“It’s okay even if you’re not okay though,” came a response from Irene, thoughtful and there’s no escaping it.

 

“But I am.”

 

“Right.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Irene held Wendy’s gaze in a staring contest for a brief moment before letting out a sigh in defeat. “You know,” the rapper began, “I’m just saying that you may dismantle that ‘okay’ layer of yours while you are now, in fact, very naked, literally.”

 

“Like you said, I _am_ trying to impress you.”

 

“You are?”

 

“Yup.”

 

“With your nudity and all that?”

 

“With my sex appeal,” Wendy corrected, “but yeah, that, too. Nudity. I have been, and being emo and pathetic is not a strong point I planned to show you.”

 

“And why would you even try to impress me in the first place?”

 

Wendy raised her head to catch Irene’s lips with hers, sparing herself a few seconds of silence before putting this one card of hers down the table, bare for Irene to see—and probably break and tear apart if she pleased.

 

There is always that moment, right? Before the final judgment befalls, there is that short pause when one weighs his decision one last time. Whether it is the right decision to be made or not. Whether it is okay to entrust such an important thing to another person. Or in this case, whether Wendy was okay and would allow another person to own her all over again with the full authority to break her whenever and however they wanted. Whether it was right to trust that Irene would not.

 

Their lips parted and Wendy whispered her answer, sealing her fate, “I don’t know, Bae Joohyun. Because I like you, I think. You tell me.”

 

\--------

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are they progressing too fast? Probably. Am I regretting this? Not at all. Am I enjoying this a bit too much? Damn right, I am.
> 
> Remarks, concerns, please drop some. I love them all.
> 
> Oh, and if the plot would allow it, I may drop some bombs in the next chapter. Or the next next chapter. But it’s definitely the next time we have Irene narrating the story. Stay tuned!


	7. Chapter 7

_ “I don’t know, Bae Joohyun. Because I like you, I think. You tell me.” _

 

She didn’t know what had gotten into her. She was sure enough she hadn’t drunk anything before sleep nor had she woken up feeling drunk; it was beyond her understanding that her mouth decided to betray her brain and just blurted out stupid things without her brain’s permission.

 

But no, really, it was said with her brain’s permission. Only that the genius thing forgot to mention how stupid of a decision it was to offer her heart on a platter like that.

 

And to Wendy’s horror, as immediately, she witnessed how Irene’s sly smile faltered, instantly demolishing whatever wishful thinking she thought she could entrust the woman with. This was a risky move to begin with, practically a gamble with her own heart laid out, raw and bare for Irene to feast however she pleased. Whether to cut in little pieces, or to chew in one big bite, or to slice in long, thin slices. Either way, Wendy would end up being cut open and crushed down, once again left to bleed until nothing’s left of her miserable self.

 

Who was she, really, to expect—or even more pathetic,  _force_ —Irene to feel the same way? They, after all, were simply strangers, a ‘nobody’ to each other had they never met back in the award ceremony.

 

The hesitation, however, didn’t last long for the woman on top seemingly had regained control of her expression and soon her lopsided grin was on display once again. Leaning down, Irene went for Wendy’s ear and whispered in a low voice—so low it emitted such heat that travelled throughout Wendy’s body, one that would certainly make her evaporate than it would comfort her from the embarrassment.

 

“Shh...” chanted Irene, “don’t spoil the fun just yet, baby boy.”

 

And with that, she began planting kisses all over Wendy’s body, distracting Wendy from her own thought like the expert that she was.

 

\--

 

The second time she was awake, her room was blindingly bright. The curtains had been revealed, which allowed the sunlight to break in, ever daringly disturbing Wendy from her much deserved Monday morning sleep.

 

To her dismay, her bed was not as warm as the sun made it look. The sheets were cold and Wendy was all by herself.

 

Just like every other night, really, for loneliness was not a foreign thing to her—she  _best-friended_ it the day her parents didn’t survive the accident like she had. Yet there she was, clutching the cold sheet close to her chest, staring ever hopefully at the empty spot next to her in her desperate attempt to summon a certain someone who, for a while, had filled in the emptiness with her way too-talkative self.

 

It seemed to Wendy that in that short time Irene had accompanied her, she had got very accustomed to the latter’s presence that it felt weird to listen to this endless monolog in her head all over again.

 

And Wendy was hurt—she’s not gonna lie about that—that Irene ever casually left without saying goodbye, making Wendy, as much as she hated to admit it, feel used.

 

Then again, Wendy forgot that it had only been three times that they’d met. Because Irene’s presence was addicting. Irene’s presence was addicting as well as it was intoxicating. And Wendy was drunk to the point where she forgot she was not supposed to feel  _this_ familiar and dependent on Irene.

 

She was wrong to allow herself to be high on Irene’s presence, for she failed to realize it would be this painful when the withdrawal began.

 

_ Stupid _ .

 

Not wanting to dwell on the matter for too long, she chose to leave her bed. While dressing herself up in her shirt from yesterday, she noticed that Irene’s clothes were nowhere in sight, silently confirming Irene’s absence in her house. Wendy didn’t even bother to look in the mirror—she knew very well how her hair looked, pretty much the perfect portrayal of her mind at the moment, a mess. Then she dragged herself out of her room and straight to the kitchen. Hopefully, some caffeine in her system would help her to end the noisy monolog.

 

However, she hadn’t reached the kitchen yet when she heard some familiar sound. It came from the living room. Her phone ringtone. Knowing that it most probably was her manager, Wendy decided against her original plan and made a turn to the living room.

 

Her manager always did that every time, calling her in the morning exactly the day after Wendy’s parents’ death anniversary. To check up on her. Probably to make sure that Wendy hadn’t lost it yet and decided to just end her life or anything stupid along that line. She joked about it once, that she actually had died in the accident and it was just her ghost wandering around aimlessly ever since, thus no need for Jessica to check up on her all the time. Her manager couldn’t take it well.

 

“Hi, unnie,” said Wendy after the fourth ring.

 

“Gosh...  _finally_ ,” her manager’s voice could be heard from the line. She sounded relieved for some reason. “I’ve been calling for hours. Where have you been?”

 

“Really?” Wendy’s eyebrows shot up. She pulled the phone away from her ear to check the screen, and found more than twenty missed calls from Jessica’s number. Her manager had tried calling her a few times and Wendy didn’t hear anything at all? Even weirder, now that she thought of it, how did her phone end up in the living room? She recalled she put it on her bedside table last night.

 

“Anyway, how are you?” asked Jessica once Wendy reasoned that it was probably because she’d been asleep so she missed the calls.

 

Despite the fact of how desperate and lonely she was at the moment? “Fine, I guess,” she answered. “What’s up?”

 

“Well, actually—” Jessica cleared her throat, which brought a frown to Wendy’s forehead, why would her manager try to sound professional all of a sudden? “—I was planning to discuss some additional schedules for the next few weeks, but never mind. We’ll talk when I come over later.”

 

“Huh? I thought we’re good until next year.”

 

“We were, but I was on a few phone calls earlier. I’ll explain the detail later. But seriously, Wendy, how are you?”

 

Wendy was quiet for some time. It was as if her manager knew what was going on in her crazy mind at the moment, and wanted to comfort her. Then again, Wendy remembered that she had always been—supposed to be—very depressed at this time of the year, and this was what her manager was trying to console her for.

 

Not Irene’s sudden disappearance and rejection of Wendy’s feeling.

 

It’s funny how nothing else seemed to be as grieving to her now as it was those two facts.

 

_ Who are you _ , Wendy chanted to the imaginary Irene in her mind,  _and why are you doing this to me?_

 

“I’m fine, actually,” she told her manager. “Surprisingly.”

 

“You sure? Want me to come over with some food?”

 

_ “No.” _

 

A shiver went down her spine as an arm that didn’t belong to her rose to wrap itself around Wendy’s neck. That refusal was whispered right in her ear that Wendy could feel the owner of those lips grinning against her shell.

 

“I brought us breakfast,” the woman carried on. “You won’t need more.”

 

Her brain was struggling to find a match to that low voice.

 

“Wendy?” At the far end of the line, her manager called out.

 

“Say no,” the woman instructed.

 

_ Irene _ , at last her failing brain registered it. Irene. Bae Joohyun. Standing right behind her, wrapping her arm around Wendy’s neck, whispering her devilish words like the devil that she was—probably was about to eat out Wendy’s ear had she thought Wendy wouldn’t need it to hear her commands.

 

“I—I’m... good.”

 

A lie, she knew. She wasn’t okay, not with the very person, who she thought had left her, standing very close behind her. Her brain was malfunctioning, and Wendy failed to understand how in hell it was even possible. For Irene to still be there, and not leaving. And she was tired all the same. Hadn’t Irene rejected her? Then why the fuck was she planting kisses along Wendy’s left shoulder like she was the love of her life and it was just her way of saying good morning?

 

Wendy had had enough of it. She quickly said goodbye to her manager, not bothering the lingering worry in the older woman’s voice, and hastily threw the phone away, landing somewhere on the sofa hopefully. Then she turned around, and with her hands holding Irene’s wrists, she backed the woman to the nearest wall until her head hit the concrete wall with a loud thud.

 

Yet it didn’t seem to affect Irene at all. That wide smile was still plastered on her face, and it was driving Wendy mad. Like damn, the rapper even smelled nice and looked fresh and all the same gorgeous. Not even the slightest hint of how last night might have affected her. While Wendy looked and smelled like shit, and was going through this withdrawal all by herself.

 

“I would kiss you,” said Irene, tilting her head to one side with a frown, “but you need to brush your teeth first.”

 

“Don’t.” Wendy said through gritted teeth, stopping herself from blurting out stupid things like, ‘Where have you been?’ for she didn’t want to be any more desperate than she already was, and opted to settle with, “What are you doing?”

 

“Well, what are  _you_  doing?” retorted Irene. “Pinning me against the wall and all this?” The innuendo in her voice was too bold to ignore, and Wendy let go of the woman’s wrists at once as she backed away in the process.

 

The silence stretched out as Wendy did nothing but standing there and staring at Irene, trying hard to see past that façade decorated with smirks and endless sex-reference jokes. Wendy could have sworn she had seen something else there, something though as carefree but also very caring and warm.

 

But... no, that was not it. It was just part of a game. Wendy was just part of a game, and she was spoiling the  _fun_ , making it a boring game.

 

And why was Irene there again?

 

\----

 

“I’m not hungry, you can enjoy the breakfast by yourself,” Wendy’s voice cut through the silence she created, a hand rising to massage her forehead. The angry tone in her voice was gone, yet she wasn’t looking at Irene in the eye as she said, “Leave after that, please.”

 

Irene stalked Wendy’s movement with her eyes as Wendy walked away from her and into her bedroom. Before long she heard another door inside being slammed shut, making Irene jump a little from her spot.

 

She decided against the ridiculous voice in her head and stood her ground. The other woman was obviously still mad, and Irene had never been one to calm others down. She didn’t know how.

 

Then again, the breakfast she bought was a lot and not meant for only one person to eat. She purposely bought a lot, because she had checked Wendy’s fridge earlier and it was empty, save for some mineral water bottles and three small cups of yoghurt. Yet now she was told to eat it all by herself?

 

So Irene put the plastic bag she had been carrying on the kitchen counter, and then strode in the path Wendy had walked on. She could hear water running from behind the door. Irene was busy contemplating whether to knock or to just call out, disregarding the possibility of Wendy pretending to not hear and ignoring her, when her hand moved on its own and grabbed the knob. The door opened with a soft click, and Irene knew it was already too late to pull it close again.

 

Wendy’s reflection in the mirror was the first thing she saw as she opened the door wider, staring blankly at her as the singer wiped her mouth with her sleeve. Their eye contact was interrupted briefly when Wendy looked down to put her toothbrush back in its place, which Irene used to take two big steps toward the singer. Once again, Irene lifted up her hands. She brought them to rest on Wendy’s flat stomach, and she tugged on the woman’s shirt a little.

 

“Come, you need to shower,” she said, resting her chin on Wendy’s shoulder.

 

And Wendy just stared back, an undecipherable emotion flashing in her brown eyes before she closed them completely.

 

“I don’t  _need to_ ,” said Wendy at last. “I don’t have any schedules today, but whatever.” Then she stepped out of Irene’s hold and began to strip off her shirt and jeans, revealing that she was wearing nothing beneath, and it was all Irene could do to not stare. Wendy sure was one hell of an attractive woman—that was something that Irene could not argue with, and she never did, for she was there, at Wendy’s house, coming back to the woman yet again.

 

Apparently, Wendy meant what she said, because she didn’t do anything after she made it to the shower. Her hands crossed over her chest as she gave Irene an uncharacteristically cold stare, as though challenging Irene as to what she had envisioned of the idea of Wendy needing a shower. So Irene reached for the tap herself and let the warm water pour down on the other woman, drenching her blonde hair one shade darker.

 

Then Irene did the necessity. She grabbed the shampoo first, and applied some on her palm before she raised her hands to wash Wendy’s hair. Wendy stepped aside as obediently when Irene began massaging her scalp, away from the running water, and closed her eyes as told. The blonde locks felt soft against her palms, and Irene deliberately slowed her movement down to savor the silkiness as well as to appreciate the calmness that was Wendy’s expression. Before she realized it, Irene had stepped one tile closer to the singer and was breathing in the scent of her shampoo.

 

“Had I known you’d be this grumpy,” said Irene, lips catching water dripping on Wendy’s cheek, “I shouldn’t have left the curtain open.”

 

Wendy hummed back, “You think so?”

 

“Wasn’t that why you’re so mad earlier?” Irene dropped her hands to Wendy’s shoulders and led her back to the shower, then began rinsing her hair.

 

The blonde didn’t answer, but her eyes were open now and focused on Irene. The stranger from last night was present once again in those dark orbs, the one who had lost her parents and was mourning their death, the Wendy who was broken and hurt. Yet Irene didn’t get to speak to that stranger and ask her what was wrong this time, because then she felt Wendy’s hands on her shirt, pulling on the top button.

 

“I’ve showered,” she said matter-of-factly.

 

Wendy shrugged and started unbuttoning Irene’s shirt nonetheless. “I know,” she responded, “but your clothes are damp, Einstein. You’ll catch a cold.”

 

The undressing process was far from erotic, honestly, yet still Irene had to suppress a not-so-appropriate sigh from slipping past her lips when Wendy’s slim digits brushed against her breast, because  _dear God_ she knew Wendy was watching and was going through the hassle simply for her own enjoyment.

 

Irene grabbed Wendy’s shoulders for support while removing her leg one after another from her jeans. Finally remembering that she had to say something to protect her pride, she asked aloud, “Not you trying to get into my pants?” making Wendy look up from her squatting position with an amused grin.

 

“I’m not the one who’s high on libido 24/7,” fired the singer back.

 

Irene would have said something to that, really, had Wendy stood up right away. But the singer didn’t, and instead she did the one thing that would throw Irene’s sanity out the window straightaway. She pressed that smartass mouth of hers—be it by pure luck or complete expertise, Irene really could not care less— _exactly_  against her nub, stripping Irene off her last layer of self-control.

 

Nothing really made sense after. It was after some licking, and pulling on hair, and gripping on shoulders, and a lot more moaning that Irene noticed where those had got them. Or rather, herself. Against the wall, back pressed hard against the tiled wall, legs tangling loosely around Wendy’s small waist, with the owner supporting her from falling with her two arms, breathing labored, her red shoulders a perfect match of Irene’s hold on them.

 

They were a mess, for turning a supposedly innocent morning shower to a steamy session, for being incapable of keeping up a casual conversation without sex involved, for being hormonal every time they were together regardless the time, place, or situation.

 

They were a mess, for nothing had actually been spoken to each other, for these touches were all that they shared with each other, speaking on their behalves in a language neither understood.

 

They were a mess, she and Wendy together, and Irene was not complaining. Maybe she was stupid, but she would gladly embrace the mess that was Wendy and—though narrated in a language she had yet to understand—listen to her stories. All of them. Even the ones she had never spoken about. Somehow, she wondered, whether this phenomenon would ever be not one-sided—that, even if she didn’t spell it out loud, Wendy would understand her the way she did the singer.

 

\----

 

It was a given, actually, that Wendy agreed to have breakfast with Irene after. It was beyond ridiculous, even to Wendy herself, how the very person who caused the noisy, endless monolog in her brain was also the one who could shut it down in an instant.

 

They were seated across from each other on the dining table, and Wendy had been staring at Irene for the last five minutes. It occurred to the rapper that she actually had no other clothes with her, but those that had been brought to the shower with Wendy, only after they left the shower. And after some bargaining, Wendy agreed to lend the woman her clothes, which was if and only if Irene would allow Wendy to ask her one question. Probably Irene had seen it coming, that Wendy would ask her a serious question, thus it was necessary to her to distract Wendy however possible. And out of all cheap tricks there were, Irene chose to do it the dirty way, by picking an over-sized shirt from Wendy’s collection and nothing for her bottom.  _Nothing_ , and there the sly rapper sat, in Wendy’s over-sized shirt, with the damn collar slipping every then and again.

 

She was sexy, there was no use trying to deny it, and distracting, and Wendy’s mind was failing, barely able to recall the question she was dying to hear the answer of.

 

“So what is it?” Irene wondered aloud, breaking the silence.

 

“Well, you see...” Wendy began, “are you seeing someone?”

 

Irene snorted the moment Wendy threw that question that she almost choked on her milk, eyes wide, a smile threatening to break at the corner of her lips.

 

“No, really, I actually cannot remember the question I meant to ask,” defended Wendy. “But while we’re at it, I’ll ask that instead.”

 

“Why the curiosity?”

 

Wendy frowned slightly. “You asking back a question was not part of the bargain, but if you insist, it’s because I just need to know. Because like I said, I like you.” Wendy paused, observing Irene’s face in case of a change in expression, but Irene’s was as calm as ever. All the same unreadable.

 

She carried on, “Probably a lot than I originally thought, and I think it would save me the trouble if I know you’ve already taken or not. So, you know, I won’t waste the time trying to make you like me and all that.”

 

Where did that come from? Since when was Wendy so smart at composing logical arguments? Did she even seriously mean what she said? To abandon this stupid feeling she had for Irene?

 

“No,” said a voice in disagreement.

 

Wendy blinked—it was Irene’s, and it was, of course, not in response to Wendy’s internal debate.

 

“No,” the rapper repeated, “I’m not seeing someone. You would’ve read it somewhere if I did.”

 

She could feel her level of intelligence decreasing by the second, but Wendy could overlook that fact now, because this was also something she needed to confirm. So she promptly utter another question, “Was it Kang Seulgi?”

 

The laughter that erupted from Irene was loud and abrupt, confirming just how stupid of a question that idea was. “Oh my God...” Irene wiped the corner of her eyes, then coughed a little to catch her breath again. She then said, “I’m sorry, Wendy, but you’re only allowed one question.”

 

“I noticed the way she looked at me, you know?” Wendy tilted her head, bemused. The image of Irene’s unfriendly manager invaded her brain. “She doesn’t like me.”

 

“Seulgi dislikes a lot of people,” responded Irene, and the way Irene addressed Seulgi as ‘Seulgi-yang’ did not slip past Wendy’s attentive ear.

 

“She’s younger than you?”

 

“By three years,” Irene nodded. “But she always acts like she’s the big sister all the time. And yes,” Irene nodded once again, stopping Wendy before she could throw another question, “she’s my sister. That’s why she can be over protective at times.”

 

The explanation hung low in the air, and Wendy could not bring her mouth to close again. This was a twist she had never expected to happen. Kang Seulgi, that scary, unfriendly, and possessive manager was actually Irene’s sister? A sister, not a lover. A  _younger_  sister, for that matter.

 

“But, your name...”

 

“Not blood-related,” provided Irene again. “Our parents remarried when we’re little, and her father never forced me to use his surname.”

 

“Wow, I didn’t know that.”

 

“There are a lot of things you don’t know about me, Wendy,” Irene stated nonchalantly, and Wendy just had to lean back against her chair and try to take it all in, allowing herself a brief moment to digest the information and to see Irene in a bigger frame. Not only Irene Bae the controversial rapper alone, but also her surrounding, people who were connected to her, those tiny significant details about her, her stories, the things that made Bae Joohyun this Irene Bae sitting in front of her now.

 

At that moment, Wendy realized that Irene was right. She knew nothing about Irene. Nothing at all. Not even a single thing about her. Not even the reason behind her presence in the cemetery. Or the reason she decided to accept Wendy’s collaboration offer. Or even her age—how old was Irene?—Wendy didn’t know that.

 

Yet she was so mad at the other woman for taking her confession lightly and ever casually rejecting her when she actually deserved that.

 

Wendy deserved that kind of treatment, really, after selfishly claiming her interest in Irene and wanting to get to know the rapper better, yet not even trying to learn something about the said woman after claiming so.

 

What Irene said next scared Wendy a little, not because how true it might be, but because how wrong Irene was and there was no way Wendy could convince her otherwise. Wendy knew nothing about Irene, and she wouldn’t know how to change her mind.

 

“You like the ‘me’ who you don’t know anything about,” said the woman. “You won’t once you do.”

 

\--------

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obviously, they were progressing too fast in the previous chapter, so here I present another chapter full of moments (with sexy time shoved in ever shamelessly). No bombs have been dropped yet. Simply feelings, feelings, and feelings all over the place.


	8. Chapter 8

“It turns out my manager won't make it for lunch today.”

 

As Irene got herself dressed, ready to go home, clothes dry from Wendy's drier, standing in front of a full size mirror in the bedroom, that one statement left the ballad singer's mouth. Irene glanced at the woman with a brow raised in question, “Why?”

 

“A friend of hers just arrived from aboard. She's picking up the friend at the airport,” said Wendy, reciting the information from her phone.

 

“No, I mean—” Trying to smoothen the wrinkles on her shirt, Irene pressed one hand down the fabric. Yet the crinkles were still very much noticeable to her eyes after.

 

“You mean... what?”

 

A low grunt travelled through Irene’s throat as she turned around to face the other woman. “I mean, why are you telling me this?”

 

Irene noticed the way Wendy’s eyes lost focus for a fleeting moment as the woman registered Irene’s question. It was like watching a music talent show contestant being told that she was lacking the ability to sing and should reconsider her choice to be in the industry. Her confidence was deteriorating.

 

“It’s not because of your manager,” Irene spoke, feet making their way to where Wendy was standing on their own accord. “I’m leaving because now Seulgi must be looking for me.”

 

“Understood.” Both sides of her lips were turned upward, but the blonde’s tone was defeated all the same. No pout was on display, and it took a lot of internal debates on Irene’s side for her to be convinced that no, Wendy did not need to be comforted.

 

How did she end up in this position again? From a casual one night stand, to a partner for a song collaboration, to... what? What were they now? What did people call the relationship between two persons where one ever painstakingly tried to lift up the other’s mood, knowing hers would end up as gloomy otherwise? Definitely not girlfriends, right?

 

Just then Irene felt two fingers pushing their way against her forehead, easing a frown she didn’t know she had been sporting. “Your thoughts are hurting my ears,” said the owner. Long gone the disappointment in the blonde singer’s voice, and she was smiling to one side at Irene, oozing out an overflowing wave of charm—seriously, as if Irene needed any more of that.

 

As unstoppable as the charm got Irene blinded, she was in no way prepared to welcome what came after. Wendy leaned in and, replacing her fingers on Irene’s forehead, planted a kiss there. It happened in an instant, but took forever to end, so long that she could still feel Wendy against her as she was opening her eyes she did not recall closing.

 

_Damn it._

 

There was no mistaking that smile on Wendy’s lips, which was ten times brighter as the singer pulled away. She knew.

 

“See you around,” Wendy spoke, voice dripping off smugness. “I would offer you to use my iron to get your clothes ironed? But it seems like you’re in a hurry.”

 

“Play fair, Wendy Shon.”

 

“Well,” Wendy shrugged—oh, how Irene wished she could erase that grin off the singer’s face, “you said you’re not seeing anyone. It’s a given that I’m doing everything I can to make you like me.”

 

“Okay. Whatever. I’m going.”

 

Wendy was getting the upper hand of this situation, despite everything that Irene had done to keep her in place, away from any possible chances of reaching out to Irene—the prospect alone, of Wendy getting a hold of her, was more than enough to suffocate her. Yet still Wendy was one step ahead of her. This was a dangerous game to begin with, and Irene hated losing.

 

“Okay, but one last thing?” Wendy bargained, her feet easily matching Irene’s quick pace to the front door. “Why did you put my cell phone in the living room? I remembered saving it on the bedside table.”

 

This time, Irene was not hesitant to show her annoyance, deliberately directing it to the phone in question held by the other woman, the cause of her disturbed sleep earlier that morning. Putting on her shoes, she declared, “This Jessica Jung persistently tried calling you since like, five in the morning, and I thought—since I didn’t get to—you would like to sleep a little longer without disturbance. I took the liberty to isolate the damn thing outside.”

 

“That’s my manager.”

 

“Yes, and she was disturbing your sleep.”

 

“Like revealing the curtains wide open wouldn’t?”

 

“A simple ‘thank you’ won’t hurt.”

 

“Well, thank you,” responded Wendy without missing a beat. Before Irene could stand right back up, Wendy was already squatting in front of her, expression torn between staying still and helping Irene with her shoes—as if Irene was a five and she needed such care. She never knew—and why hadn’t Wendy warned her about it?—that the Wendy Shon who was trying to make one fall head over heels for her could be this _scary_. Scarily caring and—without doubt—charming.

 

“Thank you for keeping my phone away so I could sleep in,” the singer carried on. “Thank you for the breakfast and the shower. Thank you for smoking and sharing it with me. Thank you for accompanying me throughout the night last night. Thank you for being here.”

 

Okay, that’s it. There was just so much Irene could take before her heart swelled up from this strange sensation bubbling up in her stomach and twisting her inside.

 

“See you, Wendy.”

 

“Very soon, I hope.”

 

\--

 

 _Very soon indeed_ , Irene agreed as she got on the taxi leaving Wendy’s house.

 

Her fingers swiped her phone open to reread three messages she received from Seulgi. The one she received very late the night before said, “Got in touch with Lee Donghae. Said a three-week music show promotion for the soundtrack were in discussion. Will brief the detail once you’re home.”

 

 _Three weeks_.

 

Three weeks performing the song meant, at least, 12 back stages shared with Wendy Shon, and hell, Irene wouldn’t even want to find out what Wendy might do—and Irene quoted—to make Irene like her. This was not what she meant to happen when she followed Wendy to the toilet back at the damn award ceremony.

 

Irene allowed her fingers to massage her temple, easing the pain that had made itself comfortable there, as she threw her gaze outside the window. Snow had started piling up along the pavement, and it got Irene raised an eyebrow. Confused. She didn’t even notice it was snowing— _had been snowing_ —and the idea of it forced a snort out of her nose. Even the snow was mocking her for her obliviousness of her surroundings. Oblivious and had zero control of what had happened, was, and would.

 

Wendy forcing herself into her muddled life being one of the many.

 

\--

 

The house was very quiet when she arrived. It was cold, too, as though the heater had not been turned on since last night. There was no telling if anyone was inside, because the lock was automatic and Irene was able to get in with a spare key she had. The cold and vacant living room that greeted her further worsened the unsettling feeling in her stomach.

 

Where was Seulgi?

 

“Unnie, where are you?” The second message that had disturbed her sleep in the middle of the night last night replayed itself in Irene’s head, leaving Irene to make a mental note to herself. Next time, she must make sure she replied. The probability of Seulgi worrying about her whereabouts throughout the night was eating her, and Irene would be lying if she said it did not make her feel guilty.

 

Crossing the living room and into the hallway leading to the kitchen, Irene spotted a beer bottle lying on the second last flight of stairs, this close to rolling down the steps with a soft thud against the carpet. It was empty, and Irene decided to go upstairs. She knew this, Seulgi had been drinking and there was only one place the younger would go every time her mind was in a haze.

 

“I need you,” the third message, arrived when she was out buying breakfast for Wendy and herself this morning, repeated itself on an endless loop as Irene brought her feet to the furthest room on the second floor, right to a big study room she used to keep many important stuff in.

 

These very soft tunes of a song by Beyoncé could be heard behind the door to the study room, and she had a clear image in her mind, of Seulgi blasting the music there throughout the night while drowning herself and consciousness with the alcohol. Irene did not like where this was going.

 

Soon, as she opened the door, revealing a bedroom decorated in many shades of purple, she spotted a figure sprawled on bed, head almost falling off the edge, clothed in jeans from the day before and a tank top, hair a mess covering her sleeping face. The girl must have been so drunk to fall asleep in such a state.

 

Irene switched on the light as she stepped inside her bedroom, and knowing how the younger was a light sleeper, she was prepared to be greeted by a pair of bloodshot eyes as soon as light illuminated the room. A soft grunt followed the movement of the sleeping girl, now sitting up with one hand supporting her stance.

 

“I’ve been wondering where you’re at,” slurred words escaped the girl’s lips, an idiotic grin decorating her expression. Even if she’s no longer drunk, Irene was sure enough the girl would continue to appear so. This was Seulgi, and being drunk was her only reason, her excuse every single time, for what she would do at times like this.

 

Then again, Irene knew she was not. Because if she was, how come she always did it over and over again?

 

Still, Irene approached her, partly because she wanted to get the girl off her bed and the other because she still felt obligated to make the girl change clothes and get a proper sleep. And perhaps, some food as well.

 

“I missed you,” whined Seulgi the moment Irene climbed on the bed, her whole body latched on to Irene, allowing the raven-haired woman to smell the alcohol from her breath. One exhalation away, and Seulgi’s face was plastered to Irene’s neck, thin arms hugging her neck closer, as though Irene was part of a dream that would go away if not held tight.

 

“I know,” Irene turned her head sideways, hands holding the younger by the arms, “now let’s get you cleaned first. I’ll cook something.”

 

“I missed you,” repeated the younger—either ignoring or not hearing Irene’s words, Irene would never know—voice clearer yet muffled at the same time, for she was digging her nose into Irene’s shoulder, mouth planted to her collarbone.

 

This was not something that Irene was a stranger to. In fact, she knew this very well for so many years already. Seulgi’s arms hugging her close like that, Seulgi’s mouth draping silent kisses to her skin, Seulgi’s nose blowing hot air against her shoulder, she knew of those. Like a ritual. All known and memorized.

 

Yet for some strange reasons, it felt different this time. The way Seulgi hugging her a little too tight, her breath raging against the fabric of her clothes, mouth chanting the confession of longing nonstop like a mantra. Jealousy coated the younger’s every move, as if she knew where Irene had been while she was away and it was her way of claiming ownership.

 

The first tug happened so fast, way too fast for Irene to comprehend. Before she knew it, she was already on her back, pinned down on the mattress, the drunk girl hovering above her with a distorted expression.

 

“Where were you? I waited for you all night!” Seulgi cried out, voice blaring the entire room, hoarse, angered, desperate, and everything else that Irene had never associated with the younger. Seulgi shook Irene’s wrist that was in her grip hard, “Answer me!”

 

Seulgi shook her wrist for the second time and it made Irene cringe, tongue securely bitten between her teeth to stop herself from screaming. She didn’t have to see, the pain that ran from her wrist was enough to tell her that Seulgi was holding her right on the spot she did the last time where the bruises were left. Those bruises were still very visible to her eyes, still very purple compared to the rest of her white skin, still a perfect match to Seulgi’s strong hold on her wrist.

 

What other excuses could she give Wendy if she spotted it the next time they met? Hurting her wrist again while lifting yet another big box?

 

“Seul,” the raven-haired woman called out, trying her best to sound as calm and composed, “let go.”

 

The respond was almost automatic, like it was rehearsed. The anger in Seulgi’s eyes subsided, the tightening hold loosened, and the younger dropped her head to Irene’s shoulder, hiding itself at the meet of her neck and shoulder. Apology kisses were planted, and ‘sorry’ became the only thing Seulgi muttered for the next few seconds.

 

Like a mantra, almost like a lullaby, and Irene was almost into considering falling asleep like that, with Seulgi side-hugging her like a bear—Seulgi could get her shower and food later, it was almost too comfortable to move—until a hand travelled its way down Irene’s abdomen. Before it could reach wherever it had meant to travel to, Irene caught it and brought it back to its owner.

 

“Go shower,” she ordered the younger girl, rising from the bed in the process. “I’ll make you something to eat.”

 

Irene was halfway putting her feet down on the carpet when Seulgi caught her wrist yet again, this time gentler. The warmth of Seulgi’s body engulfed Irene in a loose embrace while the young manager rested her head on Irene’s shoulder.

 

“Unnie, I’m sorry, okay?” Seulgi repeated herself. “I didn’t mean to yell at you. I wasn’t in my right mind.”

 

“It’s fine. Just go shower.”

 

The hug tightened and lips were pressed to Irene’s ear, running along the side of her neck, down to her shoulder. “Forgive me please?”

 

And Irene had to force herself to get away, to push herself away from the warmth of Seulgi’s body, reminding herself that she was not going to give in this time around.

 

She rose to her feet and left the bedroom before Seulgi could catch up to her.

 

There was Wendy all over her. Wendy’s grazing teeth, Wendy’s trailed kisses, Wendy’s firm touches, Wendy’s smell... Wendy, Wendy, Wendy. She could not allow them to meet Seulgi’s bloodshot eyes, because a side of her that only Seulgi could see was emerging and she was not ready to let Wendy’s traces on her meet that persona. This other Irene was bad and dirty, and her brain was telling her— _yelling at her—_ to stop, terrified that these traces of Wendy would find out how dislikable Irene truly was.

 

\--------


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wendy-yah, happy birthday! I love you to Toronto and back!

“I promised this person I would teach her to play piano.”

 

One of the many habits that made Wendy her unique individual was her tendency to blurt out random things at random times. As though her mind ran in a completely different track from everybody else, she would declare something not at all related to a topic in hand. At times, it was the most endearing thing ever; how her mind could easily be distracted, and her mouth seemingly had a mind of its own that she could not filter what should or should not be said.

 

It was endearing, Jessica agreed, but not when she was in the middle of elaborating the detail of the said singer’s upcoming schedules, which was obviously very important, but apparently had not been taken seriously by the woman.

 

She lifted up her hand and hit the singer’s head with a pen she was holding, “Her who?”

 

Wendy blinked back in response, expression blank. Then she blinked some more, eyes staring at Jessica, seemingly confused as to why Jessica changed the topic, making the manager become the weird one out of the two.

 

Reminding herself that this singer had such a heavenly voice that was treasured the most by the agency’s CEO, thus must not be harmed in any way possible, Jessica explained calmly, “The person you’re supposed to teach piano.”

 

“Oh, that.” Wendy snapped her finger—a cue for Jessica to roll her eyes—then looked away, answering quietly, “The wedding girl.”

 

“The weird girl who asked you to play a sad song at Boa’s wedding?”

 

Wendy nodded. “She said the song was nice and wanted to learn how to play it. So I told her, ‘If you want, I can teach you how.’ Out of politeness, of course,” added the singer quickly.

 

Jessica was already grinning at that point. Who would’ve guessed, really, the Wendy Shon who never showed any signs of attraction to anyone could say something as smooth as that?

 

“You may stop right there, manager Jung,” said Wendy, eyes attentive on Jessica. “I said I promised. I never actually did.”

 

“You’re very weird, you know that?” retorted Jessica, and quickly added, “And no, don’t answer that. It’s rhetorical and I know you would answer, ‘Heard that a lot,’ or something along that line.”

 

The singer nodded in response, and Jessica watched as her smile went dim before it could fully form on the blonde’s lips. Hesitation was crystal clear on her face, as if debating against herself on something Jessica knew nothing about.

 

When she finally spoke up, Wendy had her printed out schedule in hand, folded and unfolded repeatedly.

 

“It’s pure curiosity, I think,” the singer stated, eyes glancing at Jessica from behind golden fringes. “You know, your endless teasing about me having a crush on this wedding girl aside?

 

“Mm-hm?”

 

Wendy shrugged. “The fact that I can’t remember her face bothers me. I mean, I know I need some time to remember one’s face, but this is different. It’s not that I can’t recall her face, but it’s more like that bit of information was lost. Like a puzzle, that piece is missing.” A pause, and Wendy shook her head; a smile decorated her lips, seemingly present to mock her own statement.

 

Taking the paper away from Wendy, Jessica casually prompted her question, hands busy straightening the folds, “Like this bit about you promising her a piano lesson?”

 

“Yes, like that. Weird, huh?”

 

“Well...” The rest of what Jessica was about to say evaporated from her brain the moment a door leading to her bedroom opened. A tall figure, dressed in a white shirt, black leather pants, and two layers of thick jackets, emerged from inside, summoning a frown to Jessica’s forehead.

 

“Going somewhere?” Jessica asked aloud, her frown becoming more prominent when the other person looked at her and nodded.

 

“I need to report in.”

 

Failing to notice the surprised look Wendy gave her, Jessica rose to her feet and crossed the room, many different kinds of scolding ready to escape her mouth. She started out with, “You just landed.”

 

Which was true. Choi Sooyoung, this tall woman in front of her, had just landed a few hours ago. Perhaps, it was simply her salty slash worried girlfriend self, but instead of telling Jessica ‘I missed you’ like the girlfriend who had been away for half a year that she was, the first thing Sooyoung told her was, “I’m tired. I couldn’t get any sleep last night. Let’s just skip breakfast and go straight back home.” And those words had become the one thing that stood out from their quick reunion at the airport— _too tired to even give a hug_ , Jessica thought bitterly—because Sooyoung _never_ skipped her meal and when she did, that called for some serious attention.

 

True enough, as soon as they arrived at the apartment, Sooyoung had a quick shower and then went straight to bed. Jessica, of course, had prepared some food, just in case her empty stomach urged the tall woman to wake up and eat. Which didn’t happen. And Jessica had told herself—just before Wendy came—that she would wake the woman up later that day so she wouldn’t starve herself.

 

“I forgot that I had to report in,” said Sooyoung, stifling a yawn with her palm.

 

“Can’t you just, like, call?

 

As if knowing what went through Jessica’s mind, Sooyoung shook her head, her smile apologetic. “I also need to take some documents and make some calls. Besides—oh, hello?”

 

Sooyoung’s eyes shifted from Jessica’s; she looked at something over Jessica’s head. Jessica turned around, following her girlfriend’s eyes, and spotted her blonde singer standing awkwardly at the other side of the room.

 

There was a good three-second of silence as the singer looked at Jessica, blinked once, and then shifted to Sooyoung before back at Jessica again. Jessica remembered having introduced Sooyoung to Wendy several times before, so she waited, wondering how Wendy would react upon seeing Sooyoung.

 

“Hello,” Wendy said as she took big steps in Jessica’s direction and stopped before them, bowing in a formal manner. “When unnie said, ‘Picking up a friend,’ I had no idea it would be you,” admitted the singer, one hand offered for a shake.

 

If Sooyoung had sensed something off from the way Wendy behaved in front of her, the tall woman didn’t show it. She welcomed the handshake warmly, almost gracefully, and made only one small mistake by flashing a smile at the singer—which was too bright, as if it was the source of light itself, and it momentarily blinded Jessica and emptied out her brain.

 

 _Stupid Choi Sooyoung_.

 

Then Jessica waited while Sooyoung and Wendy exchanged greeting and small talk, asking how the other had been and everything, before she trailed Sooyoung’s footsteps to the front door. She pushed the door close with her back and stared at the tall woman, regarding her with a disapproving look.

 

“At this rate, I don’t know who I should be angry with, your boss for not giving you even one day off or you for being such a workaholic.”

 

Fixing her jacket, Sooyoung offered Jessica another bright smile— _blinding_. “Don’t be mad. Be happy, because I’m still here when I’m supposed to be at work already.”

 

Jessica tilted her head to one side. Sure enough she wasn’t following where Sooyoung was going.

 

“Meaning after seeing you, I forgot what I was supposed to do,” Sooyoung carried on. She bent down to meet Jessica on eye level and grinned even wider. “You’re such a distraction, woman.”

 

A tight smile was offered to Sooyoung along with an eye smile Jessica didn’t have. “Lovely,” she commented, hands rising to push the tall woman away from the door. “Now, off you go, Detective.”

 

Their laughter filled in the long corridor as Jessica kept on pushing Sooyoung’s back and Sooyoung made as minimum effort as possible to walk on her own, without complaining playing along with the shorter woman’s childish joke.

 

“But it’s true then?” Sooyoung questioned between laughter, head turning to see Jessica from her shoulder. “That she tends to forget things?”

 

They arrived at the elevator door, and Jessica gladly pushed the down arrow button for her girlfriend for the sake of stalling.

 

“A trauma from the accident,” she finally said. “She doesn’t know that you’re not just a ‘friend’ now, I think. Though it seldom happens. Just, you know, random little details. Nothing to worry about.”

 

A sound of tongue clicking, that followed a loud ‘ding’ of the elevator, made Jessica lifted up her head. Choi Sooyoung was looking down at her; her brows were furrowing yet one corner of her lips was curling up into a lopsided smile.

 

“So, you’re saying that you dating me is one of those _random_ things that is okay to be forgotten?”

 

For the second time that day, Jessica pushed Sooyoung away, now into the empty elevator. She gave the tall woman a quick kiss on the lips, feeling the smile stretch and the owner hum in response, and bid her goodbye with, “You spent too much time away that, for a moment, I forgot you’re such a baby.”

 

The elevator closed before her, and Jessica reluctantly turned her head away in the direction of her apartment. Reluctant because, with what happened earlier, she learned that this forgetfulness Wendy experienced wasn’t a one-time occurrence. Jessica wondered how often it had happened—or _would_.

 

\----

 

After shower, as if the water had a magical power to cleanse any bad intention, Seulgi looked presentable as she made her way to the kitchen. She offered Irene a curt smile before helping herself a cup of coffee. Dressed in an oversized black sweater and gray sweatpants, hair tied into a bun, this girl adding a little too much sugar into her cup of coffee was not the furious woman burning with jealousy in Irene’s bedroom earlier. She was not manager Kang either. She was Seulgi—just Seulgi, Irene’s sister, younger by three years, whose well-being Irene concerned about the most.

 

It was probably the sugar, Irene decided uncertainly, that made her think that way.

 

Seulgi seldom added sugar to her coffee, but now she did—and just a little too much, Irene sure it would taste more like sweets than coffee. Not to mention that she did so with a very serious expression on her face, as if it was a very important experiment she was conducting. Brows furrowed a little, she looked like a child. Innocent.

 

“You’re not eating with me?”

 

That one question snapped Irene out of her bubble of thoughts, eyes focusing on Seulgi’s questioning ones. “Hm? Oh, this—” she looked down at the frying pan in front of her before nodding “—yeah, I’m not really hungry,” she admitted, leaving out the fact that she was still full from the breakfast at Wendy’s.

 

“But that’s a lot,” complained Seulgi, not tearing her gaze away from the frying pan, lips pouting.

 

“Did you eat anything last night?”

 

“No.”

 

“This morning?”

 

“... no.”

 

“Then it’s not a lot,” Irene finished with a triumphant smile. “I’ll sit with you if you want.”

 

She did. Irene sat on a chair opposite from Seulgi at the dining table, sitting quietly as she watched the younger eating.

 

“Nothing is confirmed yet for the promotion,” said Seulgi starting a conversation. “And Composer Lee said we may decline if you didn’t want to.” She paused to chew a spoonful of her fried rice, gulp down her drink, and blink. When she didn’t make any sign to continue, Irene realized that the girl was waiting for her response.

 

“Agency’s letting me decide on this?” Irene asked, not missing the frown Seulgi directed at her for addressing the matter as her own.

 

Yet the manager didn’t show it. Waving her hand, she simply said, “Apparently. So?”

 

“I think that’s cool,” Irene responded. “To promote the drama to more audience and all. It’s a good idea.”

 

Seulgi gave her a look. “You think so?”

 

“Yeah.” With Wendy trying to charm her way into Irene’s life out of the equation? Yeah, it’s a good idea.

 

“And your debut in Japan?”

 

“Let’s postpone that,” Irene mumbled to herself as she threw her gaze away.

 

“We have to prepare for that, too, remember? We need to—wait,” Seulgi paused, seemingly just registered Irene’s side-comment, looking almost furious, “what did you say? What do you mean ‘let’s postpone that’?”

 

Irene let out a sigh before she rose to her feet and helped herself a cup of coffee. With her back facing Seulgi, she prompted, “Let’s just push it back.”

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“Let’s push it back,” Irene repeated, turning her body around. She blew on her hot coffee as an excuse to not meet eyes with the other girl. “I’m not saying that I won’t do it. I’m just...” Irene trailed off, not fully realizing it until the word almost escaped her mouth. “I’m just tired.”

 

For a moment, no one said anything, and the words hung low in the air. It didn’t last for more than five seconds for the silence to break, but it was enough for Irene to realize the mistake she just committed. She shouldn’t have said that. It was her who wanted the Japan debut in the first place, while Seulgi was simply doing her job as Irene’s manager. Yet now Irene was complaining and—

 

“You’re being selfish here,” remarked Seulgi, finishing Irene’s thought for her. “Do you think it’s that simple to _push back_ set schedules?”

 

“I’ll talk to her.”

 

Seulgi raised an eyebrow. “Oh, really now?”

 

“Yeah. I’ll tell her we won’t be there until early March. After all, she’s my cousin; she’ll understand.”

 

“So unprofessional,” stated Seulgi dryly while dumping her dirty plate onto the sink.

 

“And declining the offer to promote a song that _I_ recorded is not considered unprofessional?” Irene put down the cup and stepped away from the counter, allowing herself some space from her manager. It was too suffocating around the younger when she was being stubborn like that.

 

“Besides,” the black-haired woman continued, “it’s not like I’m doing it to laze around or anything. Going to music shows, being on stage, that’s more publication for me, won’t you agree? Not to mention, I’m doing it with Wendy Shon, a very well-known singer—”

 

“Oh, please,” Seulgi scoffed. The mockery in her voice was too clear to ignore. “No one listens to her songs nowadays. If anything, it’s you hauling her back up to fame.”

 

“Seulgi, watch your language. She’s a senior.”

 

The younger shrugged then crossed her arms over her chest. “It’s true though,” she spoke again. “She always comes out with the same genre every single time; people are sick of it. They don’t listen to her songs anymore. No one—oh, wait,” Seulgi paused, one corner of her lips curling up in a sneering manner. Seulgi’s laughter made Irene throw her gaze away as immediately, knowing all too well than to acknowledge the disdain mixed in it.

 

“There is one,” the manager continued nonetheless. “ _You_ do.”

 

“Stop it, Seul.”

 

Seulgi didn’t, of course. “Not only that you listen to her songs, but you also collect everything.” Her judging eyes, a mixture of pity and ridicule, fell on Irene’s figure. “Geez, you’re _obsessed_ with this ballad singer.”

 

Irene closed her eyes; the urge to lash out and scream, ‘Speak for yourself!’ overwhelmed her. Yet she settled with, “I’m not,” delivering it through gritted teeth. This was the game Seulgi always played. Her mind game. Knowing where Seulgi was going with it this time, Irene refrained herself from biting the bait.

 

However, Seulgi is Seulgi, and if Irene thought she would end it right there, Irene sure was wrong. Instead, she pressed further, seemingly determined to provoke Irene. Without missing a bit, she stepped forward and put down her hands on both sides of Irene’s, diminishing her chance for escape to zero.

 

“See, why don’t you just focus on things you can actually reach?” the younger girl prompted, smiling to one side, voice persuasive. “On _people_ you can actually reach?”

 

Irene glared at the younger and hell, even that wouldn’t stop Seulgi. She didn’t even _flinch_.

 

“On me?”

 

“Mm-hm.”

 

Seulgi shifted closer, hands rising to rest on Irene’s hips, and the rapper could feel her manager’s breath against her closed eyelids. “‘I’m going to consider it’ mm-hm or ‘Seulgi, you don’t stand a chance’ mm-hm?” the younger asked quietly.

 

Irene breathed out, not knowing why it suddenly felt heavy just to do such a simple task. Was it because of the weight Seulgi was putting on her—because the younger was leaning her forehead against Irene, relying more on Irene’s small frame to support her stance than on her own two feet? Or was it because Irene could hear the innocent child’s voice that was her younger sister in this grown-up woman’s question?

 

Yet there was nothing Irene could say in response - none that would satisfy Seulgi anyway.  Then again, it wasn’t like Irene had ever said something that could put a stop... that could calm the storm which was Seulgi’s yearning for her. And it was her poor social skill to blame—her inability to express herself.

 

Her hands, however, knew a lot better than Irene did, for they already rose to cup Seulgi’s cheeks—cold beneath her fingers. Her nostrils were filled with the scent of soap Seulgi used—it was apple—as Irene moved to nuzzle on the younger’s cheekbone. Her voice came out in a soft mumble, chanting the one thing she knew was true in that moment,

 

“I’m here, am I not?”

 

A nod, and Seulgi turned her face to press her lips onto Irene’s palm, her response muffled against it yet audible all the same.

 

“You’re here.”

 

\--

 

“Yes, I understand. I shall look into my schedule first, then let you know. Would that be okay?” Irene listened to the other person talking, nodding a little, and said, “Okay. Please call me again in—” she checked her watch, calculating how many hours Seulgi would need to sleep before she could bother the younger about her schedule “—five hours?”

 

The person on the other end confirmed affirmatively and thanked Irene for her time before ending the call.

 

 _That’s weird_ , Irene thought to herself as she stared at the number that just contacted her—some detective wanted to pay a visit to her house regarding her mother’s death, saying they found a clue about the case.

 

The _case_?

 

Sure, Irene knew that her mother died in a fire at their house three year ago. However, that was an accident—the firefighter had confirmed that, despite the strong protest from these two police officers then. Now one of them just called her—what was her name again?—asking Irene when she would be home so she and her partner could come over.

 

Well, aren’t police always like that? Poking their nose into other people’s business and justifying their disturbing action as their way to bring justice and all that. Irene shrugged while putting her phone down on the table, deciding that she would let them do whatever they pleased. As long as it wouldn’t disturb her daily activities, Irene’s fine with it. She only needed to talk to Seulgi first to arrange the schedule.

 

The girl of interest was still in a deep slumber when Irene sneaked her way into the bedroom. She grabbed her jeans, which somehow managed to fly across the room earlier, and put them on as carefully so not to disturb the younger.

 

Then she made her way out again, and into the study room. Beyoncé’s voice was the first thing that greeted her inside. Judging from the atmosphere when she arrived home earlier that morning, Irene had expected a very messy study room—a drunk Seulgi taking out all of Beyoncé’s albums she had, playing them on the PC one by one, leaving the one she had listened to on the floor, and all—but the room remained as clean as the last time Irene left it.

 

There was only one CD box left opened on top of the computer desk. Irene knew that casket. It was the one that contained a remix CD of many hit singles from Beyoncé.

 

The one Irene had given to Seulgi as a birthday present.

 

She stopped the music player and ejected the disc, for some reason agitated by the realization. The disc was back inside its casket and Irene strode to the shelf to put it away. As she did so, her eyes caught a very familiar name on her side of the shelf.

 

‘Wendy’.

 

Printed on many CD covers, they were all stacked next to one another ever neatly, arranged by year, two versions from the same year put closely together.

 

 _Wendy_ , Irene repeated the name to herself, one name from Irene’s small collection of albums that covered most of it. Her debut single, her first full length album, her first collaboration with Boa Kwon, her OST collection album, and many more—Irene had it all. And, as much as Irene hated to admit it, Seulgi was right: Irene was _obsessed_ with Wendy.

 

Irene was obsessed with Wendy, the person who narrated her sadness through her songs, who carried her broken heart with her voice, who cried with her high notes and plead with her intake of breath in between lines.

 

She was obsessed with that woman, someone who used to be just a faraway existence Irene couldn’t reach.

 

As she wiped the dust off the cover of one CD and saw Wendy’s smiling face staring at her, Irene thought she finally understood why Seulgi was so attached to her. Watching someone all the time without them knowing, silently admiring them from a distance all by yourself, sure it will make you crazy about that person. Either sooner or later, it would eventually happen. The longing, the yearning, the _urge_ to be noticed by said person. Or as extreme as it can be, the urge to be _with_ said person.

 

Just like what happened to her. Just like what she felt toward Wendy.

 

Yet—Irene frowned, acknowledging how contradicting she was.

 

Yet why was she bothered by the idea of Wendy waltzing herself into her life? Why was she bothered when the person, who she had always had her eyes on this whole time, finally noticed her? Why was she bothered by the idea of Wendy liking her back?

 

\--------


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometime after posting part 9, I joked with some twitter friends that The Enigma would be updated yearly. I shouldn’t have said that; I jinxed it. But anyway, here’s an update after a long time. More of my rambling below if anyone’s interested. Happy reading.

_ Her cousin looked stunning that day. Irene had seen her wearing the wedding dress before, since she accompanied her for the fitting herself, but now that Joohyun’s seeing her in her wedding dress on the wedding day, Kwon Boa looked more beautiful than she already was. She returned the gesture when the cousin spotted her among the guests and waved excitedly with a wide smile plastered on her face. Naturally, she mirrored the smile and followed Boa’s steps down the altar with her eyes, grateful that the ceremony went well despite the little mishap here and there. _

 

_ The soft tunes of a piano at front continued to play and accompany the newlywed’s calm steps as they exit the wedding hall. Joohyun shifted her attention to the pianist, noting the serious yet relaxed expression of the pianist as she dutifully did her job. If Joohyun didn’t know better, she would’ve thought that the pianist had prepared months prior to the wedding; while, in fact, she just volunteered for the position earlier that morning (the original wedding singer as well as pianist could not make it after losing her voice because of flu). _

 

_ Joohyun learned that the new pianist was Boa’s junior, a soloist who was in the same agency as Boa. Wendy Shon, that’s the name.  _

 

_ The tone changed—a new song, Joohyun thought—and the pianist started singing again just as the bride and groom reached the door. Wendy Shon tore her gaze away from the keys and showed her smile as she slipped her congratulatory message for Boa in the song, hand as fast as lightning when she lifted them up to make a quick heart above her head. At the other end of the hall was Joohyun’s cousin, stopping midway to blow a kiss at the pianist. The brief exchange was, Joohyun had to admit, adorable that when she looked back at the pianist and spotted her toothy grin, Irene couldn’t help but to smile, too. _

 

_ “She lost her parents in a car accident.” _

 

_ A voice to her left made Joohyun turn her head. It was Seulgi. _

 

_ “Apparently, she was in a car right behind it,” Seulgi continued. “It is believed that she was meant to ride in the car as well, but didn’t, thus survived the accident, which was meant to kill the entire family, or so they said. I think she knew that, but God forbid her hating her father, so her brain erased that bit of information.” _

 

_ Joohyun shook her head in confusion. “What are you talking about?” _

 

_ “ _ Who _,” the younger girl corrected, nodding at something in front of her. The side of her face that Joohyun could see was decorated with a smile. “I thought you like your girls broken and twisted,” Seulgi added, the amusement evident in her voice._

 

_ Following the direction of Seulgi’s gaze, Joohyun spotted Wendy Shon readying herself for yet another song. The smile was still so bright on her expression, convincing Joohyun that the person Seulgi had described was a completely different person. This Wendy Shon was bright, happy, and alive. _

 

_ As though capable of reading her mind, Seulgi promised her, “I’ll show you,” then, without another word, left Irene’s side and made her way to the front side of the hall. _

 

_ Wendy Shon’s play turned into barely audible tunes as she welcomed Seulgi, and then stopped altogether after Seulgi’s next sentence. The pianist looked down, eyes staring at the piano as concentration centered on her eyebrows. She said something, to which Seulgi replied with a shrug while gesturing to the now empty hall—the guest had followed the newlywed outside to send them off. Wendy Shon nodded, as though agreeing. Joohyun saw resolve in her eyes before the pianist closed them and began singing. _

 

_ True, Joohyun understood why her cousin didn’t mind Wendy Shon taking over the empty spot of the pianist slash wedding singer; the woman was a good singer, Joohyun acknowledged so after the first few lines of the first song she sang. Wendy Shon was good.  _

 

_ But if Wendy Shon was good at singing cheerful wedding songs, that was nothing compared to this Wendy Shon who was singing the first verse of Baek Ji Young’s Don’t Forget. The way she regretted the breakup and begged to be loved and not forgotten, the pain in her expression was real. Hadn’t she known better, Joohyun would’ve believed that she’s the one who went through the separation— _ she is _, her brain interrupted, then reminded her,_ the car crash _… This Wendy Shon was the Wendy Shon Seulgi described earlier. This Wendy Shon was broken._

 

_ … yet beautiful.  _

 

_ Just when she reached the part where she told the other person to come back, a small smile tugged her lips upward. There was regret and pain her voice, but the acceptance, that the separation was inevitable, made this Wendy Shon look stronger than the shell of a broken singer Seulgi described her to be. There was beauty in the way she nodded her acknowledgement, simply asking not to be forgotten. _

 

_ This Wendy Shon was beautiful and broken. _

 

_ \-- _

 

_ “Can you hum that again for me, please?” _

 

_ Joohyun was staring at her phone, wondering if her cousin already arrived at the hotel, when the quiet pianist stopped her play and interrupted Joohyun’s train of thoughts. _

 

_ She looked up and saw Wendy Shon staring back at her, evidently frowning despite the smile she sent in Joohyun’s direction. Joohyun looked around her, but the wedding hall was almost empty now. Besides herself, there were only the guys who were busy taking off the decoration and cleaning up the place. Wendy Shon was talking to her? She tossed back the confused look, unsure if she understood the woman at all. _

 

_ The pianist made an O shape with her mouth then held up a finger. “This,” she said, hands back on the piano, “you were humming something like this just before the decoration guy walked past you.” She began hitting the keys, producing tones familiar to Joohyun’s ear. “The one carrying the big round table? I didn’t catch the last few notes.” _

 

_ “Notes?” Joohyun repeated, not even hiding her amusement at Wendy Shon’s display of music ‘nerdiness’ as she stepped closer to the grand piano. “Do you always start a conversation with strangers with music-related topics?” _

 

_ Wendy Shon had an eyebrow rose; her smile turned playful. “Only when I think the conversation would benefit me,”‘ she responded. _

 

_ She tilted her head to one side. “How will this one do?” _

 

_ “I’m making a song with those notes as the baseline for my next album.” _

 

_ The singer sound proud and excited, and Joohyun wasn’t sure if she should just brush it off or take the woman seriously. She went with the latter. “And what exactly would I get out of it?” _

 

_ “Full credit of the original source material.” _

 

_ She squinted at the singer. “I wouldn’t know that for sure, would I?” _

 

_ Wendy Shon was silent at that point, brows stitched together as she pondered on Joohyun’s question. An act, Joohyun could tell, because it only lasted seconds before the singer showed Joohyun her perfect rows of teeth and declared, “Well, then you’ll have to buy the album when it’s out and see for yourself.” _

 

_ Joohyun laughed, less at Wendy Shon’s sense of humor and more at herself for noting how cute the woman was when she smiled her toothy smile like that. It was the second time that day. And scratch her earlier opinion; it’s not the interaction between her cousin and the singer that was adorable, it was the woman herself. _

 

_ Wendy Shon was cute. _

__

_ She fixed her attention back to the singer, and told her with a straight face, “That was a poorly executed marketing plan, you know that, right?” _

 

_ “Was it too obvious?” _

 

_ Joohyun chuckled. “You’re funny.” _

 

_ “No, I’m Wendy Shon,” the singer stated, one hand offered to Joohyun, “and you are? I will need your name for the credit and thanks to section, you know?” _

 

_ She stared at the hand for a moment, wondering if cute persons are also capable of mastering the art of seduction, because she had one right in front of her then.  _

 

_ “I’m starting to believe that this is something you do often,” she told the woman, but grabbed her hand anyway and said her name. “Ever got a girl’s number using the same method?” _

 

_ Instead of answering, Wendy Shon withdrew her hand and brought it back to the piano. The tunes she played next was a repetition of the one she played earlier, the one out of Joohyun’s mindless humming, stopping right at the point she admitted she hadn’t heard well, and then going back to the first note again. After the third time revisiting it, Wendy Shon went idle and casually wondered, “Do you play?” _

 

_ Joohyun shook her head, fingers already wandering along one black key of the piano. She pressed on it, and then another one before it, and more until she met a blockade of bony fingers that swatted her finger away from the instrument. _

 

_ “You don’t play; I get it,” the singer laughed. _

 

_ “One free lesson in addition to the credit then?” _

 

_ “Only if the song did well on charts. What do you want to learn to play?” _

 

_ Joohyun paused, momentarily convincing herself that she hadn’t just indirectly asked Wendy Shon out on a date and—dear God, did Wendy Shon just say yes to that? When she spoke again, Joohyun had to clear her throat so to sound as casual as before. “That one ballad song you played earlier.” _

 

_ If she had said something wrong, Wendy Shon didn’t show it. Yet Joohyun didn’t fail to notice how her smile faltered a bit. _

 

_ “Baek Ji Young’s Don’t Forget?” _

 

_ Joohyun nodded. _

 

_ “Got it.” _

 

_ Seeing that the singer wouldn’t say anything more, she questioned, “How do I know when you’ll give me the free lesson?” _

 

_  At that, Wendy Shon grinned. “Usually, this is the part where I’d push a piece of paper to the girl so she could write her phone number on it.” _

 

_ Ah. Joohyun folded her arms in front of her chest, trying to hold herself back from complimenting how smooth that was. Her lips, however, wasn’t as cooperative; she’s already mirroring the singer’s grin before she could stop herself. _

 

_ However, instead of doing as what she described, Wendy Shon simply stood up and fixed her dress, ready to leave. _

 

_ “I haven’t hummed the rest of what you didn’t hear yet,” Joohyun reminded the singer. _

 

_ “I lied, sorry,” the singer confessed, fingers swiped across her phone screen to unlock it. She shifted her attention back to Joohyun and continued, “I did catch all the notes you hummed. Thank you for the inspiration. It was nice talking to you, Bae Joohyun.” _

 

_ And the singer left, phone glued to her ear while she spoke to someone on the other line, leaving Joohyun alone to wonder if the conversation she just had with the singer was simply part of the singer’s plan to get Joohyun’s name. For the sake of the tunes being fully credited to Joohyun? _

 

\--

 

Why was she bothered by the idea of Wendy liking her back?

 

_ No _ , she argued the thought. She had liked her since then. Wendy, that woman had liked Irene since that day back in the wedding hall. Why would she bother trying to engage Irene in a conversation otherwise?

 

The memory washed over her as she looked at Wendy’s silent stare in one of her albums, the one that supposedly featured that song, but Irene’s name never made it to the album credit or thanks to section. Not in the next mini album released after that either, or in the album released the following year. It was as if their conversation back then never happened.

 

Had that song been released, Irene wouldn’t have been this obsessed with the woman. Every time she released a new album, Irene wouldn’t have bought it just to check if that song was in it or not. Irene wouldn’t have watched her on TV—a silly part of her suggested that maybe the song didn’t make the cut to feature in her album, but _maybe_ Wendy would perform it live somewhere. Irene wouldn’t have noticed her habits on screen. She wouldn’t have known that Wendy, when teased by someone, would jut her bottom lip, and she wouldn’t have thought how cute the gesture was. She wouldn’t have—

 

Irene sighed. She put the album back to its place and let her finger slide across the printed name of the singer on its side.

 

Irene wouldn’t have liked Wendy this much.

 

_ \-- _

 

_ “Good luck for tonight.” _

 

_ Irene allowed her younger sister slash manager in her personal space to give her a hug. She hugged back, nodding her ‘thank you’ in Seulgi’s shoulder. That was probably a mistake she made, because then Seulgi shifted and pressed her mouth to Irene’s ear, obviously interpreting Irene’s low hum earlier as an encouragement to be more affectionate. The kiss traveled down to her neck and then further to her jaw. Irene had both of her hands on the girl’s shoulders, holding her in place, just as the kiss reached her chin. _

 

_ “One day I’m gonna kiss you on the mouth, you know?” the younger smiled, voluntarily stepping back from Irene’s space. _

 

_ Irene only hummed in response, eyes already busy searching for her handbag. _

 

_ “‘Seulgi, you don’t stand a chance’ mm-hm, is it?” Seulgi wondered aloud. _

 

_ Seulgi. Seulgi and her repetitive question. Sometimes, Irene wondered if the younger kept asking the question simply because she wanted to get on her nerve or because she wanted to hear the answer. Irene never gave her the satisfaction for the latter though, because it’s Seulgi, and she’d do whatever necessary to make Irene change her mind, and Irene was… she was tired trying to push Seulgi away. _

 

_ (She tried and failed. _

 

_ She couldn’t push Seulgi away.) _

 

_ “I don’t get it,” said Seulgi again—it’s just Irene, maybe, but there’s mockery in her voice. “Why won’t you just let me? It’s not like you’re trying to preserve the first kiss for your prince charming or something, are you? Or princess, for that matter,” the girl added. _

 

_ Finding her handbag situated on the sofa right next to the younger girl, Irene walked up to her, all the while ignoring her prince charming question. However, before she could get the handbag, it disappeared; Seulgi got her hand on it before Irene did. _

 

_ Irene looked at the girl and waited. _

 

_ A smile decorated Seulgi’s lips, knowing she had Irene’s full attention now, and she spoke, “No one wants you as much as I do, Unnie.  _ I _deserve the first kiss.”_

 

_ “I’m late,” Irene stated, not wanting even one second to fill in the silence. She gestured to the handbag in Seulgi’s hold; the girl handed it over with a chuckle. Irene ignored that, too, and instead told the girl not to forget to take her medicine after eating the porridge she prepared earlier. _

 

_ Her trip to the award ceremony was spent in silence. A manager of another artist from her agency drove her there. The only two times the silence was interrupted were when Irene asked whether the group the manager managed had no schedule that night, which was a ‘yes’, hence the manager having the time to drive Irene to the ceremony, and when the manager told Irene she’d win the popularity award for sure. _

 

_ “You had everyone’s attention with that music video,” the manager said with such excitement, too much, in Irene’s opinion. It’s just like everybody else ever since the music video was released. If they happened to be not part of the conservative group, who frowned upon two women making out on camera, they’d have this overly excited voice while praising the music video. _

 

_ Not that Irene didn’t like it anyway. She  _ breathed _the praises. The attention, she loved it. And what did Seulgi tell her again? No one wanted Irene as much as she did? Well, if she did win this popularity award, majority of Korea begged to disagree._

 

_ The award itself was far from interesting. Irene basically knew who would win what that night, just like everyone else. It’s funny how some of these singers acted like they didn’t and still clapped as excitedly when their name or someone they knew of was announced as the winner—amazing how much effort they put into their acting for the camera. Irene had none of it and mentally thanked whoever decided the setting arrangement; she was seated quite far from any camera, so she was sure her uninterested gesture wouldn’t be caught on camera or whatever. _

 

_ Irene, as expected by many, won the popularity award. She went on stage to receive her award, and everyone was watching her very intently Irene almost believed some of them expected her to suddenly pull a surprise performance, singing the song, hopefully naked, just so it would satisfy their perverted thoughts. Instead, Irene bowed a little to get her mouth closer to the microphone and focused her eyes on one section in the crowd. She made a toasting gesture to a woman sitting there with her trophy, and said, “Lastly, to my best friend, Kim Yongsun—Solar, thank you for sparing your time to appear in the music video with me. I love you.” Not forgetting to send a wink in Solar’s direction, she finished in a low tone, “We should do that again.” _

 

_ That left the audience somewhere between surprised and confused—surprised at Irene’s boldness and confused whether to take Irene’s closing statement as a simple invitation for Solar to work together again in the future or, considering Solar’s role in the music video was Irene’s character’s lover, as what Irene meant it to be, an innuendo. It would be disappointing if later, when she checked her phone, she didn’t find any article that went, “Did Irene Bae just openly admit she’s into girls?” or something along that line. _

 

_ She caught Solar blowing a kiss in her direction as Irene walked back to her seat, which earned the singer a kick to her chair. Solar’s groupmate, Irene noted, as she tried to hold back a chuckle as well as to refrain herself from sending Solar yet another flying kiss to save that friend of hers the rest of the night spent with a sulking Moon Byulyi. _

 

_ It was after four announcements and one performance later that Irene decided to leave her seat. Irene made her way to the toilet, following the trail of a person she spotted leaving her seat earlier that night—the person who was Irene’s other reason to attend the award ceremony. Wendy Shon. _

 

_ One year into her debut, this was the first time she was ever in the same occasion as the singer. Finally, after months—was it years?—of waiting for the singer to release the song like she said she would back in Boa’s wedding, Irene had her chance to confront her. “Do you actually have a plan in mind to release that song?” was what she wanted to ask. She knew there’s this thing called ‘playing hard to get’, but really, doing that for almost two years now was just way too much. _

 

_ The woman in question was there, as Irene opened the toilet door, standing all by herself in front the counter, seemingly busy with her own thoughts that she didn’t notice Irene’s presence in the toilet. She was talking to her reflection in the mirror. “… it’s still stupid though.” _

 

_ Irene titled her head to one side, weighing just how rude it would be if she just barged in and interrupted the singer’s alone time. Her mouth, however, was smarter and acted first before thinking.  _

 

_ “What, you talking to yourself in front of a mirror? No shit, Einstein. That gotta be the most genius thing one could ever invent of doing. Inspiring even.” _

 

_ Genius, isn’t it? Giving such an impression after two years of not seeing the blonde singer. _

 

_ She waited, as Wendy Shon turned her head, for the familiarity to flash in the singer’s eyes, perhaps coupled with a silent apology for not fulfilling her promise—for making Irene wait. It never came. Weird look was all she got from Wendy Shon.  _

 

_ … Wendy Shon didn’t recognize her? _

 

_ Was it the wig? Right, why was she wearing a wig again? To bring back the badass girl look from her controversial music video and make the audience feel nostalgic about it and droll over her? Now that she’s repeating it in her head, it didn’t sound like a smart idea at all, because it made her unrecognizable.  _

 

_ Irene was about to reach for the wig she’s wearing when Seulgi’s words about Wendy Shon came back to her, played in an endless loop at the back of her head. And before she could stop herself, Irene was laughing like mad. She’d been following the singer around, every new release from her, her appearance on TV, her new OST…  _ everything _, for two years straight only for her to come back to this amnesic version of Wendy Shon? That piano lesson she’d been looking forward to basically existed nowhere but in her own memory. The whole situation felt so absurd that Irene could do nothing about it but laugh._

 

_ It wasn’t the wig. _

 

_ God… how Irene wished it was the wig. _

 

_ She removed herself from the doorway and walked up to the woman. Perhaps, up close, Wendy Shon would recall something. _

 

_ “I came in here wanting to escape those imbeciles outside,” she said.  _ To ask you about that song you said you’d release but never did actually, and to let you know that I’m still waiting for that free piano lesson, but you don’t even remember me. So fucking fantastic, isn’t it? _her brain was unstoppable. “Turns out there’s someone who’s even more pathetic than I am.”_

 

_ “I’m not pathetic,” responded Wendy Shon. _

 

_ Irene felt like laughing again. Or crying, maybe. The woman’s right; she’s not pathetic. Irene was. Who else waits two years for a bloody piano lesson from someone who doesn’t even remember them? Only Irene Bae. _

 

_ Just how ironic it was; less than an hour ago she was standing in front of many eyes who wanted a piece of her, and now here she was, sitting on the counter of a toilet, with the woman that was the center of her obsession for two years but had no memories of Irene at all—even the mention of her real name brought no recollection whatsoever to the singer. Unlike all the people who wanted her, the only person, who Irene wanted, had none of that desire.  _

 

_ How dare this woman made Irene wait for two years for… nothing? _

 

_ “Hm?” _

 

_ Irene turned to the side and found Wendy Shon staring at her in question. She heard? Did Irene just mumble her thought out loud? She wondered just how much the blonde heard, but the confusion in her face told Irene that it’s probably not much. It must be the curiosity that made Wendy Shon keep her posture, waiting for Irene to repeat her words while Irene finished her smoke.  _

 

_ She exhaled the residual in the woman’s face and said, “I think we should fuck.” _

 

_ The surprised gasp that left Wendy Shon’s mouth was unmistaken. The blonde coughed hard to get a hold of her breathing again.     _

 

_ “The mute line from my music video,” she stated. “One of the many things people asked me about that damned video. Arose curiosity, they said, and probably the reason I win the award. What do you think?” _

 

_ “What?”  _

 

_ “What do you think of the line?” _

 

_ “Well, I think it’s very short and so on point.” _

 

_  ”And…? She urged, wanting to keep the woman’s attention on her. “What do you think of the proposal? Should we do it here?” _

 

_  ”I don’t have sex with strangers,” the blonde stated. _

 

_ “Sure you do. News flash, it’s called ‘fuck’ because you do it with strangers,” Irene replied, growing more agitated the longer she spent talking to the woman. This was not Wendy Shon. Who was this timid person and what had she done to the woman who had mastered the art of seduction and cuteness from two years ago? _

 

_ “You… you don’t even know my name.”  _

 

_ Irene had the sudden urge to scream at the singer and told her that, yes, she  _ knew _she had this memory loss thing going on and, yes, Irene was the fool out of the two for remembering and holding onto such a trivial thing from years ago; she got it. She didn’t need to be constantly reminded that she’s nothing but a stranger in the singer’s eye or whatever._

 

_ She didn’t do it. Instead, she hopped off the counter and faced the woman, standing close enough for her to wonder why the singer didn’t stop Irene from invading her personal space. _

 

_ It was the fear for that, perhaps—for Wendy Shon to voice her objection and then remove Irene from her personal space, or the fact that she’s tired of hearing Wendy Shon’s constant reminder of her not recognizing Irene, that made Irene do what she did next. She launched herself at the singer and captured her bottom lip between her own, muting her from whatever it was she wanted to say. The objection, the refusal, she didn’t want to hear any of that, and for a moment, it was easy to pretend like the woman wanted Irene as she held her between her palms, so calm and composed, as if allowing Irene to do whatever she wanted to do to her in that moment.  _

 

_ “Tell me you’ve done this before. Otherwise, I’d feel really bad if I were to take away your virginity.” Irene pulled back, reluctant, realizing how much she wanted the woman, and the idea of Wendy Shon not feeling the same, be it with her memory loss or not, gave a harsh tug to Irene’s self-esteem—but it’s already tumbling, falling from its throne, too late for Irene to save, when her brain finally registered the fact that it was  _ her _first._

 

_ The kiss, it was her first.  _

 

\--

 

Wendy simply didn’t remember. Irene learned so that night.

 

Yet she’s here again, casually waltzing her way into Irene’s life again, after Irene’s desperate attempt to make the woman remember her. And she liked Irene again, just like she had two years ago, if not more intense and blatant in her way of showing it.

 

But for how long?

 

How long would this version of Wendy last before Irene met yet another amnesic version of Wendy who saw Irene as nothing but a mere stranger?

 

\--------

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since it’s my story, yes, of course Irene and Wendy had known each other before. I mean, who else, from reading part 5, noticed and wondered how Irene knew those ‘someone dear to Wendy’ were her parents when Wendy never mentioned it to Irene before? Yes, indeed, I’ve given out clues here and there in the previous chapters, but I guess, because I rarely updated, you guys forget already? LOL.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the read, just like I did the writing process. The wait for the next chapter won’t be as long. Until then.


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